


Losing You

by Crossover_Chick



Series: The Forgotten Vows Verse [1]
Category: Alice: Madness Returns, American McGee's Alice, Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Chick/pseuds/Crossover_Chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Van Dort thought life was going to be simple again once Emily was set free. Unfortunately, he thought wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Quiet Evening

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series I came up with after deciding I wanted to make a Victor Van Dort/Alice Liddell (the Alice games) story that took into account both of their canons. Although I've got this listed under both Corpse Bride and American McGee's Alice, this story is largely about the Corpse Bride universe, detailing what happened after the end of the movie.

 

January 27th, 1875

Burtonsville, England

9:59 P.M.

Gradually, the last of the butterflies that had once been the corpse bride vanished from view, swallowed up by the velvet night sky. Victor and Victoria remained where they were for a long moment, gazing up at the moon in silence. Finally, Victor whispered, "Goodbye Emily."

Victoria looked at him, at the bouquet still held in her hands, then back at the moon. "Goodbye Emily," she echoed. "And thank you."

"Ahem. . . ."

The couple turned to find Elder Gutknecht behind them, the Wine of Ages and attendant goblet clutched in his skeletal fingers. "Well, my boy," he said, "it appears you have a few years left in this world yet."

Victor smiled and nodded. "Yes, it appears I do." His eyes flicked back toward the sky as the smile faded, replaced by his more customary worried look. "Is she – I mean, what just happened – I want to be sure–"

"It was what was meant to be," Elder Gutknecht told him. "A full explanation would take more time than I have, and I'm not sure it was ever meant for mortal ears. But she's happy, and she's free. Her murder has been avenged at long last, and she's received her proof that love really does exist. The poor girl has had her doubts over the years."

"I'm sure," Victoria said, frowning in sympathy. "Poor Emily. . .the look on her face when she saw Lord Barkis. . .what will happen to _him_ , by the way?"

It was amazing how expressive a skeleton could be without a proper face. A subtle angling of the head to catch the moonlight in a certain way, and suddenly the Elder's permanent grin became, just for a moment, more of a smirk. "He's not going to enjoy his afterlife as much as we have, I can assure you of that."

Victor looked back at the door where the lord (if he really was one) had been dragged down Below by the very eager dead. A sick, hot pleasure filled his stomach. It wasn't in his nature to hate, but the revelation of what Barkis had done – along with the knowledge that Emily's fate had come within a knife's edge of being Victoria's as well – made him go against the grain. "Good."

"Yes," Victoria agreed, eyes narrowed to slits. "I hope he has a _lot_ of time to think about how he's hurt others." Her face flushed pink. "As unladylike as that sounds."

Elder Gutknecht chuckled. "Never fear, my dear – I won't tell anyone." He rolled his skull on his neck, the moonlight glinting off his glasses. "I wish you both all the best."

"Thank you, Elder Gutknecht," Victor said, smiling at the old skeleton. It was funny just how fond he'd become of him – of all the dead, really – during his brief stay Below. Or maybe not – he'd never met a group of people so friendly and welcoming in all his life. To be accepted as one of their own right from the start, even with a pulse in his wrist and breath in his lungs. . .he was going to miss them. "May we all meet again someday."

"We will – we all do, in the end." He patted Victor's arm. "But until then – enjoy your life, Victor. Make every moment count. It's what she would have wanted."

Victor nodded solemnly. "I will."

"Good." The Elder inclined his head at Victoria, who dropped a polite curtsy. Then he turned and hobbled his way to the back door. Green light spilled out as he opened it, and Victor fancied he could hear Lord Barkis screaming as the others dedicated themselves to justice. Then the old wood creaked shut, and the church went dark and silent. Deep in his gut, Victor knew that was it – that if he tried to follow the Elder, all he'd find was Pastor Galswells's personal quarters. This world and the next were separate once again.

Victoria stared at the pitted door. "It doesn't feel real, does it?" she said suddenly. "I feel like any moment now I'm going to wake up and it'll all have been a fantastic dream."

Victor chuckled. That same thought had been plaguing him throughout his adventure. Even after nearly giving himself a concussion on the Ball & Socket's bar. "I'm half-expecting to turn around and suddenly find myself nose to plank with my bedroom floor."

Figures were filing past them now – those few remaining living who'd been brave enough to stay in their seats throughout the sword-and-fork fight, now ready to leave all this strangeness behind and get on with their normal lives. The last was an old, bent woman who looked vaguely familiar to Victor – oh, yes, the Everglots' maid Hildegarde. "Miss Victoria, we must get home," she said, wringing her hands as she approached them. "Your parents are surely in a frightful state."

"Oh yes," Victoria said, grimacing. "They did not take seeing Great-Grandfather Everglot well at all. . .I hope they believe me when I tell them everything's all right now."

"May I accompany you?" Victor asked. Bold, perhaps, but he wasn't ready to see her leave just yet. After all, he'd spent most of the day convinced he'd lost her forever to another man. "I mean – s-surely it isn't right to let two women go out walking alone at this time of night."

Victoria smiled up at him. "I'd like that." Her eyes drifted back down to her bouquet. "And besides, you need to tell me everything that happened. How you met Emily, and why you decided to marry her."

"We'll need to walk slow, then," Victor said, offering his arm. Victoria took it, and extended her own arm for Hildegarde to lean on. "It's quite the story." He took a deep breath. "After Pastor Galswells banished me from your drawing room – um, by the way, I'm sorry for setting your mother on fire – I fled to the woods to find some privacy to practice my vows. . . ."

It all came pouring out as they made their way down the twisty path from the church back to the Everglot mansion – accidentally awakening Emily with the ring on her finger, finding himself in the Land of the Dead, receiving Scraps as his wedding present, attempting to escape only for it to go horribly awry, playing the duet with Emily, hearing about Victoria's marriage, deciding to give Emily the wedding she'd always dreamed of, and arriving again in the Land of the Living. He didn't think he'd ever spoken so much at one time in all his life – nor had such a rapt audience. Victoria and Hildegarde listened intently to every word he said – almost too intently, Victor thought. The expression on Victoria's face when he told about the surge of joy he'd gotten when he recognized his long-dead dog, or the wonder at seeing Emily dance so gleefully in the moonlight, or the shame and guilt transformed into warmth and happiness during their time together at the piano. . .well, it was hard to read. Not angry, he could tell that much, but very thoughtful. Which was almost worse. "And then – w-well, you were there to see us start to exchange our vows. . .and then Barkis arrived, and you know everything from that point," he finished, his free hand playing with his tie.

Victoria nodded, lips pressed tightly together as she contemplated his words. "You cared for her quite a bit, didn't you?" she asked. "When she dragged you out of my bedroom, I was half-convinced you'd been captured by a demon. But it wasn't like that at all, was it?"

"No," Victor confirmed. "That mess was all my fault. I should have told her about you, about our a-arrangement, from the start. But first I was too shocked, just trying to figure out what was going on. . .and then, after h-hearing what happened to her, I – I wanted to find a way to explain things to her that wouldn't completely break her heart. Which I ended up doing anyway. . . ." _"Why can't you understand it was a mistake? I would never marry you!"_ Those words hurt more than Barkis's sword ever could. How could he have been so callous, so cruel? Yes, he'd been stressed and angry and still a little scared, but to actually let such a statement out of his mouth. . .how Emily had found it within herself to forgive him, he would never understand. "But yes, I did care for her. She was – she was _nice_. I wish I could have introduced you to her properly. Under different circumstances, I think you might have liked her."

"So do I," Victoria agreed softly. "The moment her eyes met mine in the church. . .I wish I could tell her I'm sorry for thinking her evil. She was a truly lovely person. Who didn't deserve what happened to her in the slightest." She looked up at the moon. "I hope she's at peace."

"Elder Gutknecht seems to think so," Victor said. "And I'd trust him on these matters. He knows much more than we do about how it all works."

"I'm sure he does." Victoria gave his arm a little squeeze. "And I'm sure it's all worked out for the best."

Victor smiled at her. "Me too."

Victoria smiled back – then noticed they were standing before the front doors to her house. "Oh dear," she sighed, playing with a loose rose petal. "I am not looking forward to this."

"Should I come in?" Victor asked, not sure if he wanted Victoria to say yes or not. On the one hand, he'd have more time with Victoria. On the other – he'd have to face her parents. "Try to explain myself?"

Hildegarde shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Master Van Dort. They're not exactly fond of you at the moment."

"I have to agree – Father would probably just call for his musket and not listen to a word you say," Victoria said, grimacing. "Let me have the night to calm them down, then tomorrow you can come over and hopefully we can all talk like civilized people."

"All right," Victor said, quietly relieved he did not have to see the disapproving glares of the Everglots again. "I – I suppose this is where we part, then."

Victoria nodded, slipping her arm out of his. "I'll see you in the morning," she said. "Things should be better by then."

Victor nodded back. "We hope. I wish you luck in talking to your parents." _You're going to need it_.

"Thank you – I need as much as I can get," Victoria replied, as if she'd heard his thought. "Sleep well." She gave him a warm smile, the kind that turned his heart into melting butter. "We'll be together again very soon."

That was just what he needed to hear. Victor reached out and took her hand, relishing in this last moment of contact. "A good night to you, Victoria. And you too, Miss Hildegarde."

"Thank you, Master Van Dort," Hildegarde said, patting his arm. "Good night."

"Good night," Victoria echoed, giving his hand a final squeeze. Then she took a deep breath, turned around, yanked open the door, and marched inside, like a general heading to the war room. Hildegarde followed, giving Victor one last polite nod before pulling the door closed behind her.

Victor lingered on the doorstep briefly, assuring himself that Victoria was safe inside and far away from Bluebeard shaved and brought to life. Then all the exhaustion and hunger and other unpleasant emotions he'd been doing his best to keep at bay finally caught up with him. Suddenly, the only things in the world he wanted were something to fill his belly and someplace to sleep, not necessarily in that order. Covering a loud yawn with his hand, he dragged himself across the square to his own house.

It was dark and quiet inside the front hall when he opened the door. Victor fumbled around until he managed to light the candle kept on the side table. Now where were his parents? The servants' absence he could excuse – they were probably still in a tizzy from what had just happened. But Mother and Father seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. What could have happened to them? The only thing he was certain of was that they were not dead – otherwise, he would have seen them Below. _Maybe they went off somewhere looking for me?_ _I should have asked Mayhew when I had the chance._

Right now, though, he was far too exhausted to ponder the question for long. Guided by the flickering flame, he forced himself up the stairs to his room. He took a moment to soak in the calming familiarity of it all – the butterfly sketches tacked up on the walls, the tall desk tucked in front of the window, the easel and canvases propped up in the far corner. Then he set the candle on his nightstand, took off his shoes, and flopped onto his bed without even undressing. Within moments, he was asleep.


	2. A Less Than Quiet Morning

January 28th, 1875

Burtonsville, England

7:23 A.M.

"WHERE IS THAT DRATTED SON OF MINE?!"

Victor jerked awake, yelping as he dropped off the side of the bed onto the floor. "He's in a lot of trouble!" Nell's voice continued, booming with rage. "How _dare_ he run off with another woman the day of his wedding rehearsal!"

Victor winced, sitting up and rubbing his sore backside. Oh dear – this was going to be fun. _Maybe I can just hide up here until Barry and the others explain. . .no, that's not fair. I'm the one who caused all this trouble. I need to be the one to fix it. I wonder what it says about me that I'd rather face Barkis with his sword again. . . ._ He brushed his hair back, straightened his tie, and slipped on his shoes, then took a deep, fortifying breath. _All right, into the dragon's lair we go. . . ._

His parents were in the front hall as he reached the downstairs, along with most of the servants. Nell was glaring at all and sundry, her dress hem muddied and her hat feather hanging limp. William, beside her, was hiding a yawn behind his hand. He looked even more disheveled – hat askew, remaining hair in a frizz, and even more mud splattered across his trousers. Barry, the butler, and Harland, one of the gardeners, were taking the brunt of their mistress's dirty looks – likely to save the poor contingent of maids behind them, who had huddled into a ball for safety. "I never would have guessed it of him!" Nell snarled, fan going a mile a minute. "Our Victor – no better than a common rake!"

"Please, dear, I'm sure there's just been some sort of misunderstanding," William said, touching her shoulder. "You heard the town crier – it can't be as bad as what _he_ said."

"I certainly hope so! The alternative is too horrible for me to contemplate!" Nell spotted Victor standing to the side, fiddling with his tie. "You!" she snapped, jabbing her fan at him like a sword. "Where _have_ you been? And who was that tart who tried to drag you away from an excellent marriage?"

_"Tart?!" How dare – oh, but she doesn't know any better. . . ._ Victor swallowed. "It's – it's a rather long story, Mother, and q-quite a fantastic one at that."

"Fantastic? What's fantastic about you deciding a perfectly good viscountess was worth throwing over?" Nell demanded, arms crossed.

"Victor, the town crier was, well, crying about you eloping with a corpse earlier," William added, fiddling with the top of his cane. "There's not something we should, ah, _know_ about you, is there son?"

Victor frowned at him, baffled. They'd already talked to the town crier? Shouldn't they know what had happened then? Granted, not even that loudmouth had all the details –

And then it clicked. Victor's eyes went wide with horror. "No! Oh God no, Father! It's n-not like that at all!"

"She must be an ugly one, if he mistook her for a corpse," Nell grumbled, fanning herself.

"She wasn't ugly," Victor replied, eyebrows lowering. "She _was_ a corpse, Mother."

"But you just said–" William started.

"She just happened to be up and walking about at the time."

Both parents stared at him like he'd just said he was a chicken who laid chocolate eggs. "What?" Nell finally asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's – I – it'll take some time to explain, and I'm famished. Could we perhaps discuss this over breakfast?" Victor pleaded, rubbing his growling stomach.

"No, we'll discuss it now!" Nell snapped, still eyeing him strangely. "What do you mean, she was a corpse who was up and walking? Such things just don't happen, Victor!"

"Not normally, but–" Victor put a hand on the nearby wall to steady himself. God, he felt weak. . .why didn't they have a nice soft chair out here for visitors? Well, the quicker he explained, the quicker he could have some eggs and bacon. "After Pastor Galswells s-sent me away, I wandered into the woods, looking for some privacy to practice my vows. After a few tries, I finally said them perfectly, and. . .well, I was using p-props, and there was this hand-shaped branch at the base of an old oak tree that seemed perfect for the ring, so I slipped it on. It turned out to be the skeletal hand of a murdered bride, who thought someone had at last come along to claim her in marriage. The next thing I knew, she'd clawed her way out of the ground and accepted my 'proposal.' I t-tried to run away, but she caught up and – and took me to the Land of the Dead."

His parents stared again. "The Land of the What?" William asked, blinking.

"The Land of the Dead. It's where people – and animals–" Victor added, remembering Scraps "–go when they die. It's rather like the Land of the Living, actually, only it's much more colorful and some of the people are skeletons." A smile spread across his face. "And everyone's as friendly as can be. They welcomed me into their 'family' as soon as they met me. It didn't even matter that I was still alive, or that I was – l-less than happy to be there." He winced as he thought about his behavior when he'd woken up in the Ball & Socket. It seemed abominably rude now – in particular, the way he'd treated both Emily and poor General Bonesaparte. At least they'd all understood that he'd been frightened out of his wits. And judging by Bonesaparte's casual attitude toward being grabbed, it hadn't been the first time he'd been wielded along with his sword. A sudden image of Bonesaparte being used as a weapon by his friend General Wellington popped into his head, forcing him to hide a giggle. _If only Barkis had been that unlucky when he grabbed the sword!_

"He's gone mad," Nell whispered, eyes wide over the top of her fan. "He's lost his mind."

"What?!" That wasn't the impression he'd meant to give at all! "No! I–"

"Victor, you're talking nonsense," William said in soothing tones. "There's no such thing as the Land of the Dead. There's Heaven, and then there's Hell."

"No, Father, it exists!" Victor insisted. "I saw it with my own eyes! Alfred Carter was down there – Mrs. Carter's husband! He's just a skeleton with a mustache and a suit now, but it was him! And Scraps was there too! Emily gave him to me as a wedding present!"

"Emily?" Nell said, voice sharp. "Is that your other woman?"

"That was the _bride_ , yes," Victor snapped, starting to get a little irritated. "Emily – um – j-just Emily."

"You don't even know her last name?"

"She never told me," Victor confessed, blushing. "I guess she didn't feel the need. Maybe because she thought we were m-married, and thus her last name would have been Van Dort."

"Victor, really," William said, voice still gentle. "Your dog couldn't have been in the afterlife. Animals don't have souls."

"He _was_ , Father," Victor replied with a frown. "I know he was. I saw him."

"So you're saying Pastor Galswells doesn't know what he's talking about when he says animals can't follow us beyond? And that there's no other afterlife besides Heaven and Hell?" William asked, turning from soothing to severe. "That's sacrilege, Victor."

Victor hesitated. Yes, it was indeed sacrilege – a contradiction of every tenant of religion he'd grown up believing. But as weird as it felt to deny the word of God as told by Galswells, it felt even worse to deny the evidence of his senses. Especially as it meant denying people he'd come to call friends. "Yes – he's wrong," he said, folding his arms and ignoring his stomach's nervous flip-flops. "Maybe Catholicism is the one that's got it anywhere near right with Purgatory. The Land of the Dead could be that. Or it could be something entirely different. I don't know. But I do know it exists."

"Victor!" William gasped.

"I _went there_ , Father! I saw the land, I heard the people, I – um – s-smelled the decay," he added weakly, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not saying Heaven and Hell don't exist, I'm just saying there's something else as well."

"And your dog? I know you miss him, son, but–"

"It was _Scraps_ , Father," Victor cut him off. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but it was! He's nothing more than a skeleton now, but he had the same bark, he knew all the same tricks – he even still had his collar! And the statue in the town square – Downstairs, it's a dead horse that still moves and whinnies! Pastor Galswells may say they don't have souls, but why _would_ God not want us to have our pets in the hereafter?"

"Forget your stupid dog for the moment," Nell said, waving her hands. "Let's get back to this supposed 'bride' of yours. So you don't know her last name. What _do_ you know about her?"

"That she was murdered by the man she meant to elope with," Victor replied quietly. "None other than Lord Barkis Bittern, in fact."

"Lord Barkis? That big-chinned fellow who showed up at the rehearsal?"

Victor nodded. "According to Emily's friend Bonejangles, he arrived in town a poor drifter, courted her, then convinced her to run away with him when her father didn't approve of the match. And then he – he k-killed her to steal the gold and jewels he told her to bring." He swore he could see the shadow play all over again on the far wall. Poor sweet Emily, all alone under the oak tree, waiting impatiently to begin a new life with the man she loved. . .and then, out of the darkness appears a monster wearing said man's face. . .and before she can do anything but scream, everything goes black. . . . His heart twisted as he wrapped his arms around himself. _You deserved so much better. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to give you one last hug before you moved on._ "After she died, she vowed to wait for her 'true love' to come and ask for her hand."

"And that was you, was it?" Nell asked, in such tones of derision Victor felt like he'd been slapped.

"I – I–" Victor pulled at the knot of his tie, trying to sort out his confused feelings. On the one hand, he'd spent the majority of his time with Emily running in the opposite direction. Even when she'd caught him and sat him down for a chat, the foremost thought on his mind had been _How_ _on earth_ _do I explain this to Victoria?!_ He'd formulated his escape with barely a thought for how she might feel when confronted with his furious mother yelling that he was already engaged. (Had he really been planning on taking her to meet _Nell Van Dort_? He'd been more wicked than he'd thought.) Or, as it turned out, how she would react to finding him on the verge of kissing another woman. And it wasn't until he'd thought Victoria lost to him forever that he'd seriously considered taking Emily as his bride. Not exactly the actions of a man in love.

On the other hand. . .even with his mind so fixated on his living fiancee, he hadn't been able to tell Emily he was promised to another, for fear of breaking her heart. She'd torn him away from everything he'd ever known, ignored every sign that he didn't want to be Downstairs and had no clue who she was, and he'd never found in himself to hate her. The guilt he'd felt for deceiving and hurting her had been some of the worst of his life. Her dancing had mesmerized him, right in the middle of his escape attempt. And the duet they'd shared – it had been simply magical. He'd never seen such enthusiasm in a woman – in _anyone_ – before. Not to mention it was the first time he'd ever shared his own gift with someone so intimately. . . . And when he'd said, "I would never marry you," every atom of his body had rebelled, had wanted to yank back the words – because they simply weren't true. Perhaps Emily wasn't a bride he would have chosen on his own – but then, he hadn't had any choice with Victoria either, and it taken him barely a minute to want to spend the rest of his life with her. Emily had been a harder sell to his heart, but by the time he'd seen her drop to her knees in Ms. Plum's kitchen, whispering how she could never ask him to give up his life for her happiness. . .he hadn't seen a corpse at all in that moment. Just a lonely young woman whom made him smile and loved the piano and dogs as much as he and – and who had given him the color he'd always felt lacking from his life. Even the knowledge that he would have to die to make it work hadn't made him hesitate then. Partly because he didn't want to live in a world where he had to watch Victoria on another man's arm, yes, but – also because he couldn't see death with Emily as being a bad thing. All throughout the wedding preparations, he'd been thinking about what his afterlife with his new wife might be like – spirited duets, walking Scraps through the cemetery, playing with the dead children and pretending they were their own – and it had all filled his heart with the same warmth as the scenarios he'd dreamed up right before his ill-fated rehearsal. If Victoria hadn't been in the church, if Emily hadn't seen her. . . .

But he had no idea how to explain all that to his mother without being called a "rake" again. "I don't know," he finally got out. "All I know is that I woke her up. For whatever reason, she was able to accept my proposal, a-accidental as it was."

"Hmph. So – if you're married to a dead girl, then where on earth is she?" Nell demanded, looking around. "Show us this mysteriously-walking corpse, Victor. Is she preparing breakfast? Making your bed? Or out in the garden having a lie-down in the dirt?"

"Mother, please!" Victor begged, clasping his hands before him. "Look, it's all terribly complicated – you know how a marriage is considered 'until death do you part?' Since Emily was already dead, that meant we weren't actually married."

"So why didn't you come straight back instead of letting the Everglots court that wealthy newcomer?"

"Because – well, first, I was still Downstairs, and didn't know the spell for returning, and second because Elder Gutknecht–"

"Oh, who now?" Nell groaned, fanning herself as she rolled her eyes.

"He's – he's like the mayor, I suppose – he didn't tell us about the problem until after I'd heard from Mayhew Vict-Miss Everglot was marrying another. You, ah, d-do know what happened to Mayhew, right?" he added, wondering if his parents were oblivious enough not to notice their faithful driver dying on them.

"Of course we do – found his body on the road while we were coming back," Nell replied, rather callously in Victor's opinion. "Your father had to take the reins and get us home. And he wasn't much good at it, either," she added, giving him a slit-eyed glance.

"I haven't had much experience with horses," William said, rubbing the back of his head. "Got us back here in one piece, though. And with Mayhew propped up in the back. Couldn't just leave the poor fellow there, after all. Have to make sure he gets a proper burial." He tilted his head at Victor. "But your mother's question still stands – if you weren't married to this corpse, why linger? Couldn't you ask this 'Gutknecht' to get you back home?"

"I – y-you see, without Victoria. . .I didn't think there was much left for me up here, and – poor Emily looked so sad and lonely, and we got on so well. . .I decided. . .w-we might as well get properly m-married," Victor confessed, fiddling with his tie.

"Wait, how? You just said–"

Something about his fidgeting must have made it click. William's jaw dropped. "You – decided to _kill yourself_?"

The pure shock in his father's voice gave Victor a start. Somehow, he'd convinced himself his parents didn't really care that much if he lived or died. It was warming, in a way, to know at least one of them would have been horrified – even as it caused fresh guilt to cascade down his insides. "I'm s-sorry, I just – like I said, Emily and I got on well, and the idea of h-having to live with seeing Victoria as Lady Bittern–"

"He was the wealthy newcomer?!" Nell shouted, waving her hands. "Victor, you've really gone and–"

"She's _Widow_ Bittern now," Victor cut in, holding up his hands. "They ended up at the church when Emily and I were saying our vows again–"

"So now _they_ visited this Land of the Dead?" Nell cut in, incredulous. "Can just anyone go down there whenever they like?"

"No, we came back up here – just a moment, let me get everything straight." Victor took a deep breath, settling his nerves slightly. "According to Elder Gutknecht, the only way for my marriage to Emily to be v-valid was for us to come back Upstairs and have me repeat my vows again – which, this time, would include p-poisoned wine. We came to the church, started the ceremony – and then Emily saw Victoria watching us and stopped me from finishing because she couldn't bear to break another bride's heart." His face darkened. "Then Lord Barkis barged in to reclaim Victoria as his bride, and Emily recognized him as her murderer. We fought a bit, Emily took a blow meant for me, and he decided to toast her mockingly – except he drank the same wine I was going to. He didn't last five minutes afterward."

"So – he's dead now?" Nell said, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Yes," Victor nodded. "Dead and gone." _And good riddance_ _._ _I hope Mrs. Plum is using that fork to better effect than I did._

"All right. And this Emily person – let's humor you and say she's real. Is she still around? Are you engaged to any other girl except the one we picked for you right at this moment?"

"No," Victor said, shaking his head. "Emily's–" _Butterflies against the moon, silver and blue, and a sense of peace so profound it soaked right into his soul_ "–moved on. And I assure you, I don't have any secret g-girlfriends about."

Nell stared hard at him. "None at all?"

"None. I promise, Mother."

"Good!" Nell snapped her fan shut. "That's all I wanted to know. We may be able to salvage this yet. We'll have to get on our knees and kiss their ar- _feet_ , no doubt, and you'll probably have to wait a year for the girl, but I can live with that, I suppose." She turned toward the door. "Let's go see the Everglots and–"

"Please, Mother, I'm _starving_ ," Victor interrupted, about ready to go down on his knees right then and there. "I haven't had anything to eat for at _least_ a day. May we _please_ have breakfast first?"

"The Everglots are most likely having their morning meal now too," William told his wife. "We shouldn't interrupt. And I could do with a good cup of tea myself."

"Oh, all right," Nell said with a deep sigh. "But straight over afterward!"

* * *

Breakfast was a surprisingly quiet affair. Normally there was "entertainment" in the form of Nell monologuing about her to-do list ( _"I simply must write to Lady Dubbleton and see if they have room for three more at their next ball, and then the cook and I need to have a talk with the grocer about the dinner party on the 30th"_ ), but today she seemed to realize the fastest way to get her husband and son out of the house was to let them get on with the business of eating. Victor inhaled his food, beyond grateful to have recognizable dishes like bacon and eggs and toast set before him. The residents of the Land of the Dead were some of the kindest, most generous people he'd ever known, but their culinary skills were – lacking, to say the least. He repressed a shudder as he remembered the giant wedding cake that had so tempted him on the way to Elder Gutknecht's, and Ms. Plum's comment about how it "Wasn't coming along well at all until Bob's nose got knocked in the batter!" _How could they stand to eat like that?_ _Perhaps I would have gotten used to it – after about fifty or so years._

Once he'd washed everything down with a cup of hot chocolate, Nell hurried him and his father to their carriage. Harland was already there, lugging poor Mayhew's body off the back. "Get him inside, then get back out here – you're our new driver," Nell informed the gardener. "Don't gawk, just do it!"

Victor almost suggested they just _walk_ across the square if she was in such a hurry, but one look at her dark expression made him shut his mouth. Harland managed to get the corpse up the steps and into the house, then rushed back outside and hopped in the driver's seat. Victor and William gave Nell her usual boost inside, then climbed in themselves. The sound of her fan snapping open and shut ticked off the seconds as they rounded the statue and pulled up to the other great mansion. _Oh dear – I certainly hope Victoria's talk with her parents went better than mine! If this doesn't go the way Mother wants. . . ._ Victor gulped. _At least I know Victoria's on my side. That has to count for something._

They exited the carriage in a tense silence – even the horse seemed frightened to whinny, lest it set the dragon off. "I do hope they're still willing to consider you," Nell finally said as they ascended the front steps. "Do you always have to make such a mess of things, Victor?"

"I didn't mean to, Mother," Victor sighed, eyes on his feet. "Do you think I wanted to raise the dead?"

"Don't even start." Nell tugged the rope by the door, sending a sonorous "booom" into the morning air and scaring the cats at the fish stall nearby. "Ugh, we go to all this trouble to get you a good, society-approved bride, and you have to ruin it by running off with some silly woman who's already been jilted by another man."

Victor's hackles rose. "Emily was–"

"What did I just say about not starting?" Nell tapped her foot impatiently, then gave the bellpull another yank. "For – I know they can't be happy to see us, but the least they could do is send that butler of theirs out!"

"Maybe they're not in?" William said, leaning on his cane.

"Where would they be right after breakfast?" Frustrated, Nell rapped hard on the front door. "Now see here, we're not–"

_Creaaakkk. . . ._

Nell stopped dead, hand still raised in frozen shock, as the door fell open. For a long moment, the three of them just stood there, eyes fixed on the dark crack. Then Victor darted forward, pushing past his mother and throwing the door wide.

Chaos greeted them – a long table and chairs upturned in front of the dying fireplace, smashed plates and uneaten food littering the floor. He stepped closer and suddenly found himself off-balance as something went _crack_ under his foot. Looking down, he saw the crushed remains of a tiny groom, his feet smeared with icing. The bride was a little ways away, half-stuck in a chunk of white cake nestled next to a chicken. _Victoria's wedding breakfast. . .but where's Victoria?_

"What in blazes happened here?" Nell asked, whipping her head around to take in everything at once. "William, do something!"

"Er – hello?" William called, anxiously tapping his cane on the floor. "Everything all right?"

Victor left his parents to dither and raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. _They have to be here_ _ _–_ she promised me – _"Lord Everglot? Lady Everglot? Victoria?!"

Silence. Throwing propriety to the wind, Victor ran down the hall, ripping open every door he could find. Most of the rooms beyond looked like they hadn't been used in years – but the bedrooms were disaster areas, with wardrobes hanging open and leftover clothes lying abandoned on beds and floors. Paintings hung askew on the walls, and the remains of a vase littered the rug which dominated what was likely Lady Everglot's room. Victor continued on and finally came to Victoria's. "Victoria? Victoria, please!"

The bedroom looked almost like it had when he'd climbed in seeking help with Emily – a cozy little place well-suited for a kind-hearted woman. But now her various chests and drawers had all been ransacked, and her quilt lay in a sad little heap on the floor. Victor gathered it into his arms. It still smelled a bit of her. . .but of the lady herself, there was no sign. "Victoria?!" he cried again. "VICTORIA?!"

No answer. Just cold emptiness all around. Victor dropped the quilt and returned to the top of the stairs, where his parents were sorting through the rubble of the breakfast. ". . .they're gone."


	3. Things Get Worse

January 28th, 1875

Burtonsville, England

10:22 A.M.

"EVERGLOTS FLEE TOWN! LOCAL NOBLES DISAPPEAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! VAN DORTS IN A TIZZY OVER FAILED ENGAGEMENT!"

_At least_ someone's _having fun with what's happened,_ Victor thought, glaring out his window at the crier before resuming his pacing. _He'll have headlines for days because of this. He must feel like Christmas has come early._

Victor himself was worried half to death. The sudden disappearance of the Everglots had shaken him to his core. His mind kept going round in circles, asking itself the same questions. Where were they? Why had they run? Was Victoria all right? Had she gone willingly with her parents, or been taken by force? Most importantly, how was he supposed to find her? He rubbed his hands together, remembering the feel of her skin against his. A single moment's touch – but it might be his last memory of her. _If only I'd gone in with her. . .t_ _his isn't right,_ he thought, scowling at the ceiling. _After all that's happened,_ _all that we've had to endure,_ _we should be together._ _I_ _t was practically Emily's last request! That poor woman sacrificed her happiness for Victoria's – the least You could do is make that sacrifice worthwhile!_

A _booong_ , _creak_ , and _thump_ from downstairs alerted him to the fact that his parents were home again. He hurried to meet them, skidding into the hallway and just barely avoiding crashing into either the startled Barry or the wall. "Any news?"

William huffed, drumming his fingers on his cane. "None. We went to every house in the village – not one person saw them leave. They must have fled after everyone else fell asleep. No one has any idea where they might have gone, either."

"They can't have vanished into thin air!" Nell snapped, stabbing the air with her fan. "Don't they have land? Other houses?"

"Yes, but they're pretty far out in the country – and given their situation, probably in terrible disrepair," William replied. "If it were me, I'd just stay in a hotel. Not that there's many of those around either. . . ."

"Which means we should already be talking to them instead of babbling on here!" Nell jabbed William in the side. "You're going to find them if it's the last thing you do! I am not letting our best opportunity to become important slip through our fingers!"

"Now, now, dear, do you think I want that?" William assured her, stepping out of range of her weapon. "We'll figure it out. A good private detective should get it all sorted in less than a fortnight."

"Hire two and make it a week!" Nell glared at Victor, turning the fan on him. "You and your other woman! If you hadn't decided to sow your wild oats at the last possible moment–"

"I wasn't s-sowing any oats! I woke Emily up by accident!" Victor said, gripping his tie like a lifeline.

Nell groaned. "You're still sticking to that ridiculous 'corpse bride' story? Just own up, Victor! God, she must be from a terribly poor family if you think we'd prefer it if she were the walking dead."

"She – Mother, Father, didn't you ask anyone about what happened last night?" Victor asked, fighting back a fresh surge of irritation.

"Only if they knew where the Everglots had gone," William replied. "Though, admittedly, we couldn't get in at Mrs. Carter's because she's laid up. Maid said she'd had too much excitement the night before."

"Really? Oh, dear, I'm sorry," Victor said, anger immediately giving way to worry. "I wonder if it was the sword fight. . .I thought she was one of the ones who stayed. . . ."

"Sword fight?" Nell echoed. "Between who?"

"Lord Barkis and me. Except I – Ms. Plum m-meant to throw me a knife, I'm sure, but I – e-ended up with a fork." He smiled awkwardly. "I did manage to stick him three times before he cornered me."

Nell exchanged a look with William. "Our Victor. . .he wonders why we don't believe him," she muttered _sotto voce_.

"I _did_ ," Victor said, ire rising again. "And if you'd actually bothered to speak to anyone for five minutes, you'd know it was the truth. The entire village turned out to see my wedding to Emily – dead _and_ alive. You really heard nothing about it?"

"Little Lucas Pemberley was going on about his grandfather having a visit. . .but Victor, he's been saying that for months now," William added. "Poor child can't accept Old John's really gone."

"We didn't linger because of fairytales," Nell snapped. "We've got a crisis on our hands. Ugh. . .you know, I shouldn't be surprised that you ruined everything. We should have skipped the rehearsal and just gone straight to the wedding."

"Without Victor knowing his vows?" William asked, frowning at her.

"Even him making a fool of himself in the church would have been better than this!"

_RAP RAP RAP!_

All heads turned toward the door, blinking. "Now who could that be?" Nell asked, before glaring at Barry in his corner. "Answer it, will you?"

"My apologies, madam," Barry said, springing into action. He opened the door and leaned out. "May I have your card, sir?"

"Since when does the shepherd of lost souls need a card to be admitted?"

"Pastor Galswells!" For the first time in his life, Victor was glad to see that glowering face. While he didn't really like the local churchman much, he'd been worried that the chaos last night had caused the man to have a heart attack. "How are you?"

"Good to see you, Pastor," William said with a smile as Barry stepped back to let Galswells in. "Didn't find you at the church earlier! Care for some refreshment?"

"I'm not here on a social call, Mr. Van Dort," Pastor Galswells intoned, eyes fixed on Victor. "I am here about a most grave matter indeed."

"Oh? What?"

Galswells pointed his holy staff straight at Victor's chest. "Your son, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort. Your son, who has been consorting with the Devil himself!"

"He _what_?!" Nell cried, dropping her fan.

"I _what_?!" Victor echoed, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Master Van Dort! I saw your true self the other night! Gallivanting with demons and monsters! Making unholy alliances with the unclean dead! You have sworn your soul to Satan!"

_Oh God._ "P-Pastor Galswells, you can't be t-that upset about one man telling you to keep it down in your c-church," Victor said, trying to defuse the situation.

"Man? You call that _creature_ who spoke to me a man?!" The stick jerked forward, jabbing Victor in the gut. "Deranged as well as damned! Your son's soul is tainted, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort! He is one of the fallen!"

Victor rubbed his aching belly. "Pastor Galswells, please–"

"What is this?" William cut in, jaw hanging open. "Our Victor? _Damned_? I know he made a bit of a fool of himself last night, but – isn't that going a smidge far?"

"You did not see what happened at the church!" Galswells boomed, eyes like fire. "That boy of yours called upon the powers of darkness to help unite him with a dead woman!"

Now Nell's jaw dropped. "She _was_ a corpse?!"

"Yes! They all were! Horrific visions of rotting flesh and crumbling bones! And your son dared to make profane the sacrament of marriage with one!"

" _Victor!_ " Nell whipped around to face him, horrified. "How could you?! A _corpse_? In a _church_?! Did everyone see this?"

"The whole village," Pastor Galswells said, lip curled in disgust. "He put them under a spell, so that they walked in with the devils arm in arm!"

"It wasn't a spell!" Victor shouted, anxiety giving way to anger. How _dare_ Galswells accuse his friends of being evil? "They just recognized that the dead meant them no harm! They were our friends and loved ones! Didn't you see anyone you knew in life?"

"All I saw were the legions of Hell invading my church at _your_ command!" Pastor Galswells yelled back.

"They were _not_ the legions of Hell! Pastor Galswells, please, you've got to understand–"

"If they were not of Satan's loins, then why did I find the corpse of Lord Bittern sprawled across my floor?"

Victor blinked. "Wait – that's still up here?" he blurted, then realized just how awful that sounded. "I mean – he – I thought they–"

"You really believe our Victor killed Lord Barkis?" William asked, arching an eyebrow.

" _He_ said something about poisoned wine," Nell added, retrieving her fan to use as a pointer. "And the fellow drinking it during his – wedding."

"That may be so," Pastor Galswells replied, his gaze driving spikes into Victor. "I did not see what happened – I did not dare venture into my own church until the monsters had departed and I could cleanse it with smoke and holy water. But if you'd seen the twisted expression of horror on Lord Bittern's, may his soul rest in peace, face. . . ."

"He was a murderer!" Victor cried, fists clenching. "He killed Emily and put a sword to Victoria's throat! And that's only the two we _know_ about! A man like him – who knows how many others there were!" His stomach knotted as he pictured a parade of Emilys, blonde and brunette and ginger, all kitted out in their wedding best and carrying gold and jewels, only to have their heads broken or their bellies split or their necks squeezed until the life finally faded from their eyes. . . . "He only got what he deserved!"

"So you admit you killed him!" Pastor Galswells roared. "You admit you judged him, instead of letting our Holy Father do so!"

"I–" _could have told him that the wine was poisoned_ "–he killed himself," he said instead, pushing down the guilt. Even if Galswells had something of a point, he didn't want to waste it on Lord Barkis. "He could have left, but instead he decided to be horrible one last time, and – and if that's not judgment, I don't know what is."

Galswells steamed. "The Lord always knows the truth," he growls. "You have been destined for Hell since birth, no doubt. A dark and evil soul born to test the faith and courage of those around you. Well, I will not be beaten by you. I am a man of God, and I will protect those of this village. Thank the Lord the Everglots fled when they did, rather than send their daughter into a lifetime of horrors with _you_ at her side!"

Victor just shook his head, completely lost for words. What could he say to this – this _madman_? He turned toward his parents, desperate for help. _Please, Mother – for once, put your stubbornness and love of arguing to good use!_

Nell, however, was looking at him like he was something Scraps had done on the carpet. "You tried to marry a corpse," she said, fan pressed up against her face. "Where did we go wrong with you?"

"Now, now, I think everyone's overexcited," William said, holding up a conciliatory hand.

"I am simply delivering the righteous word of God! Warning all those who cross this creature's path of his corrupted nature!" Galswells shouted, banging his staff against the floor. "You need to know more than anyone!"

"I hope you don't think _we're_ responsible for this," Nell snapped, pushing her hat back as if she intended to go fan-to-staff against the pastor if he said yes.

"No, you and your husband are largely blameless in this," Galswells said, lowering his voice a tad. "Perhaps you have not always been the most devoted servants of God, but it is a rare soul indeed who stoops to such levels as your son. You did your best with what you had, I'm sure."

"Of course we did," William said soothingly. "Why don't you give us a moment to talk to him, then? See if there's anything we can do to – stop him being wicked."

Galswells snorted. "You would be better off sending him to some dark, deserted corner of the earth and then adopting a new lad as your heir. Once the evil has shown itself, there's no turning back."

"I say, let's not give up hope," William replied, putting on an overly-cheerful smile. "Besides, he's my flesh and blood and all, eheheh. . . ."

Pastor Galswells rolled his eyes. "Very well. But don't complain to me when he ruins everything you hold dear."

"He's already done that," Nell grumbled, shooting a glare at Victor. "There's not much more he could do."

"Don't be so sure of that! Watch him every moment! Keep him away from my church! And whatever you do, don't let him anywhere near those woods!" Pastor Galswells stabbed a long finger at Victor. "Enjoy your time on this earth, Master Van Dort! For when you die, you will get what's truly coming to you!"

With that, he was gone, marching down the street in a swirl of sacramental robes and muttered oaths. William closed the door after him. "Oh dear, this is just what we need," he mumbled, then looked over at Victor, disappointment etched into every line of his face. "You told us it wasn't like that, son."

Victor's jaw dropped. "What – I – it's _not_!" he cried, flinging his arms wide. "Father, I swear to you, it wasn't – I'm not–"

"He said you made profane the holy sacrament of marriage," William said, folding his arms. "That doesn't suggest good things, Victor."

" _I'm not a necrophiliac!_ "

Everyone jumped – including Victor. He hadn't actually meant to shout. It was just – everything was spiraling out of control so quickly, and – and his own father believing – He forced himself to lower his voice. "Look, I a-admit I tried to marry Emily, but – i-it was just the ceremony! The bit with the v-vows and the declaration of m-man and wife! There wasn't a w-word said about – c-c-con-consummation." Oh God. . .it had been bad enough to hear that word from his father's lips when William had pulled him aside a couple of days before the rehearsal to explain something Victor already knew a little about in the most awkward way possible. To associate it now with Emily, who had been pretty and kind but still very much _dead_. . .they really, _really_ needed to put a chair in here.

"But you still admit to dragging a corpse into a church and declaring you wanted to marry it!" Nell shrieked, her fan catching him in the chest. "All these years, I thought you were afraid of everything. . . ."

"Mother, I – dragging?" Victor stared. "You – you still – Mother, _Pastor Galswells himself_ just told you the dead rose!"

"At _your_ command! Obviously you scared the poor man literally out of his wits by digging up half the village graveyard to attend your 'wedding!'"

"Be reasonable, Nell – if he'd dug up that many graves, he wouldn't have had time to set things to rights before we came home," William said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"All right, perhaps," Nell allowed. "He must have just had the one and told Pastor Galswells the others were coming. Poor fellow, always thought he was a bit on-edge. . . ."

This was mad. This was completely and utterly mad. Victoria was gone, Pastor Galswells thought he was the child of the devil, and his own parents still refused to believe that last night had actually happened. "Ask the others in the village then!" he begged. "Please! They'll tell you all about it!"

"I don't _want_ to hear all about it!" Nell snapped, waving her fan as if to get rid of a bad smell. "Gallivanting through the town with a corpse on your arm, talking to it as if it were alive. . .how long has this been going on, Victor? You take a lot of walks through those woods, and you never say exactly where you go. Mr. Shallots said the earth on Mr. Elfman's grave looked disturbed last week – did you dig him up because he asked you for a bit of fresh air?"

"No! This – I–"

"This is _your_ fault," Nell added, glaring at William. "I know lunacy doesn't run in _my_ side of the family!"

"It doesn't in mine either," William snapped back. "The Van Dorts have been a proud fish-selling family ever since we came over from Dordrecht! Victor's. . . ." He glanced at his son, then sighed again. "I never thought it might happen to us. . . ."

No. He could not let them think this. He could not let them believe he'd lost his mind. "Barry!" Victor cried, seizing the butler's arm as he tried to slip away. "Please, Barry, you were there, weren't you? At least you must have seen the dead walking through the streets! Tell them it happened! Please!"

Barry pulled away – and to Victor's shock, he saw fear in the older man's gaze. "I – the pastor said – I wasn't at the church," he whispered. "All I heard was that you – there was a corpse, and you were going to die for her. . . ." Barry's eyes flicked to the elder Van Dorts. "I don't know anything, sir, ma'am. I don't."

It was as if someone had shot pure ice water into his veins. Victor stared after the butler as he hurried off, no doubt to tell all the rest of the staff what Galswells had said. _It's going to be like this all through the village, isn't it?_ he thought numbly. _Galswells will tell everyone his version of events, and they'll all start agreeing with him. . .or they'll be like my parents and say it never happened in the first place. Anything to stop themselves acknowledging something exciting happened here for once. . . ._

"Now, really, Victor," his mother scolded. "Keep scaring the servants like that, and they'll all quit their positions. Bad enough you got someone accidentally poisoned – where'd you get your hands on that, anyway?"

"We can get you help, son," William said, reaching out to touch his arm. "Someone to talk to, show you how such things just cannot be–"

Victor jerked away from his father and darted up the stairs, toward the safety of his room. This was all too much. In the space of a morning his entire world had been shattered so thoroughly the pieces had to be a fine powder by now. He needed some space. He locked the door behind him, then fell onto his bed. _This isn't happening,_ he thought, hugging himself. _This is all a dream. Some horrible nightmare I'll wake up from soon. And then my parents will be waiting for me downstairs again, and I'll explain, and this time the villagers will speak up and they'll_ believe _me and Victoria will be at her home ready to try our wedding again –_

"PASTOR GALSWELLS DECLARES VAN DORT BOY DAMNED! MASTER VAN DORT CONSIDERED EVIL INCARNATE!"

Despite every cell of his body protesting, Victor forced himself to get up and look out his window. Down in the square, the town crier was parading around, ringing his bell and spreading this latest bit of news far and wide. And there was Pastor Galswells, on the side, talking to the greengrocer and the clock maker and a bunch of others besides. Victor couldn't hear him over the crier's shouts, but the expressions of the crowd were easy enough to read. Already some were looking at the Van Dort house, and the figure in the window, with fear and revulsion. Victor turned away, resting his head against the nearby wall. _They'll never speak up for me – not now._ _And even if they did,_ _Mother would never listen anyway. I'm – I'm alone._

He remained where he was for a moment, listening to his life fall apart outside. Then he turned around, dropped to his knees, and clasped his hands so tight his knuckles went white. _Please, God,_ he prayed, closing his eyes. _Please let us find the Everglots – and quickly._ _Victoria – she's the only one I can count on anymore. The only one who might make all this worth it._ _Please – bring her back to me._


	4. A Chat With "Harry"

February 2nd, 1875

Burtonsville, England

2:24 P.M.

_Knock knock._ "Victor? May I come in?"

Victor glanced up from his doodling, then sat up straight. "Yes, Father."

William entered the room, his cane clicking against the floor. "Just thought I'd see how you are," he said with a smile. "Doing a bit of drawing, eh?"

"Sort of – I can't concentrate well enough for a proper sketch," Victor confessed, looking back down at the circles and curlicues all overlapping each other on the page. "I heard you talking to those detectives earlier in the lounge."

"Ah, yes – I'm assured Depp and McGee are the best in the business when it comes to finding missing people," William said, drumming his fingers against the top of his cane. "They've promised to track down the Everglots for us come hell or high water. Want a considerable fee for it, but I think it'll be worth it in the end, don't you?"

Victor nodded, a lump in his throat as he imagined Victoria smiling at him from her doorway. _"We'll be together again very soon. . . ."_ "They c-couldn't have gone far," he said, trying to keep his spirits up. "It takes days to get anywhere from the village."

"Depends on how fast your horse is – but you're right, they can't have fallen off the face of the earth in a single night," William said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And once we find them – why, an apology and a few kind words, and your engagement will be back on. Just as if nothing ever happened."

_The same "kind words" you gave the town crier when I accidentally fell on poor Miss Porter, no doubt,_ Victor thought, shaking his head slightly. _Still, those are likely to be the only kind the Everglots will listen to, so. . . ._ "I'd like that. A lot."

"I'm sure you would." William coughed. "Of course, we have to address that something _did_ happen. . .can't have you losing your catch a second time, aheheheh."

Victor blinked, then frowned. His father was sporting that nervous grin he got whenever he had to tell Nell bad news. "How do you mean?"

"Well, all this talk about – dead people rising from the grave – it's just not natural, Victor," William said, scratching his balding pate. "The whole village agrees. Surely you've noticed the, ah, looks?"

Victor nodded slowly, his mouth tightening into a thin line. Oh yes, he'd noticed. And the whispers, and the cuts – there wasn't a person in the village who would make eye contact with him anymore if they could help it. Victor was used to being treated like slime by Gordon Tannen and his cronies, but getting it from adults was something else. Within the space of a day, he'd gone from Cannery Prince to Village Pariah. And why? Because he'd dared to try giving a poor murdered girl some semblance of a happy ending! Because he'd brought back friends and loved ones that had died for a few brief, cheerful hours! Because he'd given this dull, gray little place a glimpse of the color that waited down Below! Was that really worthy of punishment?

Yes, according to Pastor Galswells. And while the village had a mayor, and until recently some rather well-respected nobility, everyone knew it was their church leader who really ran things in town. Every man, woman, and child walked on tiptoe around him, lest they incur his quite-considerable wrath. Even dogs were reluctant to bark in his presence. The man's railings against sin and shame had curtailed the interest in spirituality that had infected the rest of the country, and driven out almost all of the "pagan" festivals that other villages celebrated with glee. Only the May Day picnic had survived, and Victor suspected that was simply because Galswells hadn't yet found any passages in his Bible condemning flowers. The pastor's word was law in Burtonsville – and if he said Victor Van Dort was a sinner, a stain upon the fabric of the earth, nobody was going to disagree with him.

Being an outcast, however, Victor could take. He'd been alone most of his life, and looks and whispers were relatively easy to ignore. And he honestly found it easier to pray in his room on Sundays without Galswells looming over him. No, what bothered him about the whole business was how easily everyone was condemning those who lived (for lack of a better word) in the Land of the Dead. The mutterings that followed him around the village were always things like "assaulted by demons" or "felt the glare of Satan in those eyes." One particularly brave employee of the grocery had even accused him of trying to drag the village into Hell when he'd tried to purchase some apples. And after he'd seen that very same man throw his arms around a dead woman and proclaim her as his long-missed grandmother! His fists clenched without his knowing. How could anyone have walked into that church arm-in-arm with the dead, seen Barkis's removal and Emily's ascension, and then turn around and call them all, with no regard to if they were stranger or friend or relative, devils and monsters? Granted, who knew how many of the villagers actually believed what they said, and how many simply didn't want the great Eye of Galswells to be turned on them – but still. It was like a slap in the face to hear those words after everything he – and everyone else – had gone through. _I'm rather glad the Dead can't come up and visit whenever they like now,_ he thought, anger and sadness curling in his belly like twin snakes. _I can only imagine just how hurt they'd be to hear all this._

"Yes, that's not the sort of attention we need," William continued, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Hasn't really hurt business at the cannery yet, but if you keep jabbering on about it, who knows how far it could go?"

"I haven't–"

"Which is why I've brought someone here for you to talk to!" William said over him, that nervous smile growing bigger. "A fellow who's had more than a while to get used to – this sort of thing." He turned toward the door, ignoring Victor's attempts to ask him what he meant. "Come in, Dr. Wilson!"

A round, elderly man, sporting a thick beard and mustache but just the merest fringe of white circling his otherwise-bald head, appeared in the doorway. A clipboard was tucked away under his arm, and he regarded Victor through a pair of brass-edged spectacles. William hobbled over next to him. "Victor, this is Dr. Hier-Heirnon–"

"Heironymous Wilson, but feel free to just use 'Harry,'" the man said, with the air of someone who has walked this road a thousand times. "I have not the slightest idea what Father was thinking when he christened me with that, even after a lifetime spent probing the secrets of the human mind. My best guess has always been a few too many fortifying drinks."

Victor snapped straight with indignation. "A _psychiatrist_ , Father?"

"Just someone to have a look at you and see what's wrong," William said in soothing tones. "Dr. Wilson here just retired from his post at Rutledge Asylum! Treated some pretty hard cases too. I figure, if anyone can puzzle out what happened in that head of yours, he can."

Dear Lord – he preferred the looks and whispers! "Father, I'm not insane," Victor protested, letting his hurt show.

"No, no, just a little – unbalanced," William replied diplomatically. "Won't take long to put you on the straight and narrow again, I'm sure! And then you'll be all ready to make a fine husband to Miss Everglot." He put on his best 'please just do as we ask' smile. "It'll make us all feel better, Victor. No need to kick up a fuss."

Victor looked at him a moment, then turned to Dr. Wilson, still waiting patiently by the door. The man was no plump, jolly elf. . .but there was no malice in those eyes either. Just calm, professional interest. And his father was practically straining something with that pleading grin. . . . He sighed. "All right." _Besides, if I keep protesting, you'll probably send Mother up here._

"There we are! Do you good to get it all out," William said, pleased as punch with himself. "I'll leave you to it, Doctor. Feel free to come down for tea afterward!"

"Thank you – though hopefully it won't take that long." Dr. Wilson nodded at William as he clicked his way out the door, then turned back to Victor. "Well," he began as he shut them in, "you're not my most reluctant patient, but you might make the top twenty."

"I don't like being thought of as mad," Victor murmured, eyes on his shoes.

"Who does? But I agree with your father – it would do you good to get it all out," Dr. Wilson said, lumbering closer. "Repression and silence simply poison the mind further. I saw enough examples of that in Rutledge." He smiled. "And, in a less professional capacity, I confess I'm simply eager to hear the whole story. Your mother didn't offer up much in her letter, but what little I know is – if I may say so – fascinating. You really believe you visited the afterlife?"

"I did," Victor said firmly, lifting his head with a scowl. "And almost all the village saw the dead rise, no matter what they might say to you now."

Dr. Wilson nodded and made a note on his clipboard. "And – well – the business of you marrying a corpse?"

"More I almost – it – it never really got to that point," Victor replied, rubbing the back of his head. "It's – rather complicated."

"The workings of the human mind always are." Dr. Wilson sat down on the bed, the springs creaking dangerously. "But it's a poor psychiatrist who shies away from the complicated. Tell me everything, Victor. Down to the last detail." He leaned forward. "Perhaps you don't believe it, but I'm here to listen. To help, in any way I can."

Victor blinked, surprised. Dr. Wilson sounded – completely sincere. He didn't know much about the men alternately called "alienists," "psychiatrists," and "Bedlam's bobbies" (though maybe only their cook referred to them like that), but he'd built up a mental picture of someone pompous and stiff, with a love of cold plasters and leeches. Someone who'd instantly agree with whatever his parents said, without a thought for his feelings. To get instead a man who actively wanted to hear his side of the story. . . . He peered into Dr. Wilson's eyes. Nothing but genuine interest lurked behind those glasses. Who was the last person who'd looked at him like that? Who'd acted as if what came out of his mouth was worth hearing? Who'd considered this whole mess fascinating instead of frightening?

_Big blue eyes watching him all the way down into the village, thoughtful yet so very sweet. . .delicate hands playing with the blue, dried flowers clutched to her belly. . .rose petal lips smiling at the funnier parts, frowning at the sad, and if he hadn't been so intent on explaining he would have leaned down and kissed them right then and there. . . ._

The lump invaded his throat again, bigger and harder than before. Victor swallowed it back down. Perhaps he should talk. Dr. Wilson was at least unlikely to interrupt with accusations of devilry and witchcraft. And – and if it in any way helped smooth things over with Lord and Lady Everglot. . .he twisted in his chair to face the doctor properly. "All right. It all started about a week ago, with my w-wedding rehearsal to Miss Victoria Everglot. . . ."

* * *

"'Begone, you demons from Hell! Back to the void from whence you came! You shall not enter here! Back! _Back!_ '"

"And how did they respond?"

Victor grinned as he let his arm drop. "Well, I didn't quite see what happened, but I certainly did hear it – 'Keep it down, we're in a church!'"

Dr. Wilson's copious stomach jiggled as he laughed heartily. "Oh dear. . .that must have knocked the man for a loop!"

"Oh yes – he was so stunned he dropped his staff and just wandered off in a daze," Victor confirmed, collapsing back into his chair with a few giggles of his own. "I didn't see him again until – well, until he came here and started calling me damned," he continued, the mirth draining from him. "I wish he'd stayed wherever he'd gone."

"You don't like him much, do you?" Dr. Wilson asked, picking up his clipboard.

"He's so intimidating," Victor muttered. "I've never seen him not glaring at someone. His sermons are always full of how we're all lowly sinners unworthy of God's glory, and – it – it wears on you, after a while. I was terrified of him when I was small." The side of his mouth quirked up. "Still am, a bit."

"Sometimes I think the ability to frighten children is a requirement to getting into the clergy," Dr. Wilson remarked as he scratched down some notes. "You should hear some of the stories patients have told me about their time in parish schools. . .but we're getting off-topic. What happened once everyone was settled inside?"

"The ceremony began," Victor said, turning his gaze toward the window. The sun was peeking wanly through the thin gray clouds that always seemed to blanket the village – it was the work of a moment for his imagination to transform it into moonlight. "Emily came in, all aglow, I helped her to the altar, and we started our vows." He glanced down at his hands, knotting themselves in his lap. "I was so proud of myself when I got through the first half without stuttering. I – I thought it was a sign I was doing the right thing. And then Emily began her part, pouring the wine as she proclaimed she too would lift my sorrows, and that my cup would never empty – and right there, she stopped short. I didn't know it then, but Victoria had followed the procession up, and Emily had just spotted her, watching things from behind a pillar. And seeing her there. . .she stumbled and stuttered and did her best, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't finish her vows."

"Why not?"

"Because it was wrong," Victor explained quietly, touching his cheek as he recalled cold bone against his skin. "That's what she said when I tried to finish them for her and drink. She'd had her dreams stolen – and she couldn't bear to take them from someone else. Even if she loved me, I wasn't hers."

The pen busily crossed the page. "How'd that make you feel?"

"At first? Crushed," Victor confessed, hand trailing down to play with his tie. "I couldn't believe not even the dead wanted me. But when she motioned Victoria to my side. . .it's – I don't know. The moment Victoria's hand was in mine, it was like – some inner fire relit. That spark we shared at the piano was back and stronger than ever. It was _right_ for her to be there. But at the same time. . .I was supposed to be giving Emily her dream. And I couldn't bear to see her unhappy again – especially after what I said in the tower," he added, wincing. He was _never_ going to forgive himself for letting those horrible words come out of his mouth. "I just – I wanted to be with Victoria, but at the same time – I had to know Emily was going to be all right too."

"Was she?"

"In the end. But there was one last thing we had to take care of first. Lord Barkis Bittern, Victoria's new husband, who was very quick to make that fact clear." Victor scowled at his reflection in the glass. "I can't believe I was silly enough to think she'd throw me over for _him_ , frightened of Emily or not."

"Clear thinking is not a common response to extreme stress," Dr. Wilson said clinically. "If it was, I would need to find other employment. So what happened with Lord Barkis?"

"He grabbed Victoria, said he wasn't going to leave here empty-handed – and Emily suddenly gasped and whispered 'You.' And right then and there I knew who he really was." Victor turned to face Dr. Wilson again. "The man whom Victoria's parents got her to marry – was the same man who murdered Emily."

Dr. Wilson stared, pen hovering over the page. ". . .You're joking."

"I swear it's the truth," Victor said, holding up his hand. "Officer Thompson's cousin from the Coventry force happened to visit right after the whole mess, when they were getting ready to look into Lord Barkis's next of kin, and recognized him as the man who'd almost eloped with his sister's best friend. Miss Masters apparently came back in the middle of the night screaming that 'Bartholomew' tried to kill her." He knotted his fingers together. "I – I know that's not exactly proof, but – it's as close as I can get without you having actually seen Emily's face."

Dr. Wilson's expression turned thoughtful. "I think I read about that incident in the _London Illustrated_ a few years back. Nurse Darling was relieved the girl had escaped. Too bad your Emily was not so lucky."

"Indeed," Victor murmured. "I'm just glad he's been outed as the – the _scum_ he is. He practically confessed after seeing Emily – he tried to claim she was delusional, but we all heard him say he'd left her." His jaw clenched as his eyebrows formed a straight line across his forehead. "And we all saw him put a sword to Victoria's throat."

"I take it you didn't like that," Dr. Wilson deadpanned, studying his expression.

"Just the thought of Victoria ending up like Emily – of him getting away to do this again–" Victor struggled to speak as the fury coursed through him once more, boiling-hot. How dare that man touch his love, how dare that man destroy innocent lives, how dare that _bastard_ even walk the earth – what did it matter if he died in her defense, so long as she _got away_ _–_ "I was in front of him demanding her let her go before I even knew what I was doing. He threatened me too, but Scraps bit him and Victoria managed to pull free and Ms. Plum–" He flushed. "W-well, she meant to throw me a knife, I'm sure, but I ended up with a barbecue fork in my hand."

Dr. Wilson smothered a laugh. "Well, you certainly couldn't fight him with _that_ ," he said, starting to scribble down more notes – then paused as he saw the satisfied gleam in Victor's eye. "Did you?"

"Not for very long, but I stuck him three times before he finally managed to kick me to the floor," Victor said, pride suffusing his words. Mother might accuse him of being on the level of a common thug (when she wasn't accusing him of having made it up completely), but after Emily's story, he couldn't help but be happy he'd made that disgusting excuse of a "lord" squeal. "And when he went to stab me – Emily got there first, and took the blow." _How_ she'd gotten there in time, Victor couldn't say, but he knew from her sudden appearance on the bridge she could move fast and silent if she needed to. The sight of her blue body stepping in front of him, the crunch of the blade against her rib bones, and the mingled relief at surviving the fight and guilt at making Emily relive her own death would probably stay with him forever.

Dr. Wilson nodded, returning to his notes. "And then what?"

"She took the sword and threatened _him_ with it – told him to get out. But he decided he needed to be cruel one last time, and grabbed the wine to mock her. 'A toast to Emily! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.'" Victor's fingers dug into his leg. "If I hadn't been so concerned with keeping Victoria behind me. . . ."

"What about the others in the church? Surely they weren't any happier about it," Dr. Wilson asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Oh, the dead were rightly furious, but Elder Gutknecht told them they couldn't interfere since he was still alive. And most of the living had fled the church by then – I think they all bolted for the door when Barkis got his hands on the sword. But it didn't really matter in the end."

"Why?"

Victor smiled, thin and cold. "His toast ended with him _drinking_ the wine. He died just as he made to walk out the back. The dead were very – _eager_ to welcome him Downstairs."

"I'm sure," Dr. Wilson murmured, writing again. "And after that?"

"Well, they dragged him – his soul, I suppose – Below. . .and Emily turned to leave as well, but I stopped her and said that I'd made her a promise. I wasn't sure how I was going to keep it, but – I couldn't let her think I would just throw her over so easily. That she was going to be betrayed yet again. But. . . ." He swallowed, fighting a sudden swell of tears. "But she said I'd kept it already – that I'd set her free. She returned my ring, walked to the church doors, threw her bouquet to Victoria – well, on the second try – and then. . . ."

And how did he describe this next moment in words? How did you sum up something so profound, so ethereal, in mere human language? But Dr. Wilson's expectant look would not be denied. "And then she – she dissolved into the biggest rabble of blue butterflies I've ever seen. Dozens upon dozens, all flying up to the moon. And – and she looked so – so _peaceful_ as it happened, like she was finally dropping some horrible weight. . . ." He closed his eyes briefly, letting it play over again in his mind. "I don't know where she went, what really happened, but – she was happy. In those final moments, she had to be happy."

Dr. Wilson nodded slowly. "And then?"

"Well – I took Victoria back to her house, came home, and slept. And then my parents showed up the next morning and refused to believe me – and I know you don't either," he added, slumping over himself. "I – I don't blame you. It must sound like lunacy if you weren't actually there. It feels a bit like a mad dream to _me_ at times." He looked back up. "But it happened, I swear! It all happened! Everyone except Pastor Galswells might deny it, and _he'll_ tell you I've been f-fooling around with things man is not meant to know, but it happened!"

Dr. Wilson looked at him carefully for a moment, then turned back to his notes. Victor waited on tenterhooks, chewing the inside of his cheek. _Oh God. . .please just say it, just say it and get it over with, I won't hold it against_ you _you weren't there just don't suggest leeches just say it already –_

"I believe it happened for you."

Victor blinked. "I – huh?"

"It's a fantastic tale, Victor," Dr. Wilson continued. "Your descriptions of this land and its inhabitants. . .you're making me hope this really is what we have to look forward to. Barring the consumption of each other's body parts, of course." Victor let out a nervous titter. "Yes, I believe you suffered a breakdown rather than actually went to the hereafter, but that doesn't negate the effect of the experience on you. Even if it was just in the confines of your own mind, you went through this." The doctor favored him with a smile. "And I think it's made you a better person."

What was it about Dr. Wilson that defied all his expectations? "You – do?"

"You admitted to me at the start that you were terrified of getting married – that you didn't feel ready for such a commitment. Judging by some of your other comments – particularly those regarding your interaction with your parents – I think it safe to infer that you didn't believe you were worthy of a wife. That anyone could love you in a romantic sense." Victor hid a wince – Dr. Wilson could be quite blunt when he wished. "Both of those were probably at the root of your behavior at the rehearsal. Part of you likely hoped that if you made enough of a fool of yourself, they'd call the whole thing off."

"That part of me doesn't know Mother very well then," Victor blurted.

"Again, if everyone always thought rationally. . .at any rate, after you fled to the woods, your mind, engaged in a struggle to accept this new inevitability in your life, broke from reality so it could work through its fears in a more – direct way." Dr. Wilson held up a finger. "Enter a bride who in most stories would be a figure of terror and disgust – which became, in your case, someone you could genuinely see spending the rest of your life with. The Land of the Dead – a foreign, frightening realm, much like the married home, that you eventually grew comfortable enough with to claim as your own. The Wine of Ages – the final step of leaving your old life behind and starting anew in your new role. Being willing to drink it even after you were given a way out – twice – symbolizes you accepting the idea of new responsibilities, new hopes and dreams – and the fact that you _are_ capable of being loved and wanted by another. And of course, once you demonstrated this willingness, the mental construct was no longer needed. So she handed you back to the real woman and left."

Victor nodded, thoughtful. Well, he had to admit, the man had a point. He _had_ become more comfortable with the idea of getting married throughout his little adventure. More as a side effect than the main thrust of things, but. . . . "And Lord Barkis?" he asked, curious to hear the psychiatrist's spin on him. "He was real enough. He's buried outside the village walls." _And good riddance to him._

"As for the real him, I'll let the police puzzle that one out. But in your mind, I would say he represented a lot of your fears about marriage. Both in the sense of being left for someone else, and in the sense of being a poor husband. Your battle with him – well, I wouldn't say it's eliminated those fears completely, but you're now much better-equipped to deal with them." He smirked faintly. "Or perhaps you're just very good at spotting unpunished murderers."

Victor laughed softly, then leaned on his hand. "But – why would my mind go through such elaborate charades just to h-help me get my vows right?"

"Because sometimes, that's what people have to do." Dr. Wilson leaned forward. "Back in Rutledge, I had a patient who worked through her psychoses using a fantasy land as well. One pulled from her childhood daydreams. Mental demons became literal ones there – creatures she could actively harm and kill. Her last months in my care, she regaled me almost daily with stories about her adventures – slaughtering her way through armies of ants and automatons and ghostly beings the like of which I'd never even heard of before – and her desire to take down the monarch that represented the heart of all her troubles. It was a very unorthodox method of dealing with her traumas – but it _worked_. When she defeated her Queen, she became – well, not fully sane, but functional again. She was able to leave the asylum and go into private care. To hold down a simple job and interact with other people. My proudest moment as a doctor was seeing her walk out those gates with her suitcase in hand and a smile on her face. I can't actually take any credit for her cure, but after worrying for months she was going to spend the rest of her life trapped in there with me. . . ." He sighed softly. "I didn't expect to see anything like her world ever again – until you came along with your Land of the Dead." He lifted his head, smiling fatherly at Victor. "You have an amazing imagination, Victor Van Dort. Don't let anything happen to it."

The words almost felt like a hug, they were delivered with such warmth. Victor stared at the doctor. Had he really just. . .had _anyone_ ever complimented him on his imagination before? Mother certainly hadn't – beyond "stand up straight" and "stop dawdling," her favorite command to him was "quit daydreaming." She had no patience for any fantasy that didn't include having tea with the Queen or being recognized by the nobility as one of their own. And Father. . .he was more supportive, but "imagination" wasn't one of his talents. He liked to deal with the real-world practicalities of running a business. Trying out new canning techniques and balancing out profits and expenses was what made him thrive. Victor's childhood games of "explorer" and "dragon-tamer" had been met with puzzled fondness – whatever you like, son, but don't expect me to keep up. And as he'd gotten older, William had joined his wife in discouraging what he considered the "unprofitable" dreams – _"The Amazon's a long way away, Victor. You should be happy with the woods out there!" "I don't think there's really all that much left to discover in butterflies. They all look about the same anyway, don't they?" "University? Oh, Victor, you can learn from the best right here! On-the-job experience! And if you really want a professor we can bring him to you."_ Victor had gotten used to considering his imagination, and all the hopes that came with it, if not exactly shameful, at least something he ought to keep quiet about. To be told it was something he should cherish. . . . He smiled back at Dr. Wilson. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." Dr. Wilson got to his feet, knees creaking in protest. "Oof. . .now then, I do have a recommendation for you: keep what happened to yourself, all right? I won't be the one to tell you to stop believing, but your insistence that it happened hasn't made you many friends among the other villagers, has it?"

"No, I suppose not – but it's really Pastor Galswells who's making a fuss," Victor told him. "I'd happily let it fade into the past if he wasn't going on about demons. What do you suppose is wrong with _him_?"

"Not taking well the fact that one of his parishioners talked back to him and took over his church in a hallucinatory daze, claiming he was surrounded by the living dead," Dr. Wilson said, looking over his notes. "Sounds like an authoritarian complex of some sort. Can't abide his position in the town being challenged. As for the rest of the villagers – you were running around acting out large parts of this, it sounds like, and while it helped _you_ , you probably frightened them a bit. Particularly with your insistence their dead friends and relatives had risen near the end."

Victor opened his mouth to challenge this – then paused. He'd heard some whispers from the pews as everyone got settled in, things like "The greengrocer tried to stick me with a carrot!" and "My Gertrude nearly cracked my skull before I got her to recognize me." And Bonejangles, sitting with Hildegarde, had apologized about "leaving you such a mess to clean up. . . ." _That's why they ran. At least some of the dead appeared in_ _Everglot Manor_ _, and – they never came to the church, they never saw they weren't monsters. . . ._ "I didn't mean to," he murmured, leaning back against his chair. "I thought we were all going to show up in the church. . .oh dear, I owe Lord and Lady Everglot such an apology. . . ."

Dr. Wilson patted his shoulder. "You're better now. It's worked its way through your system. A few months of normal behavior – particularly normal married behavior – and I think most of the village should accept you again. Even Pastor Galswells's ire should die down."

Victor snorted, then managed to turn it into a cough. If that wasn't proof Dr. Wilson didn't know Pastor Galswells as well as he ought. . . . "I hope so. I'd like this all to be just a memory soon."

"I don't blame you. But I think you're on the right track. And if worse comes to worst, there's always the option of a fresh start in another town."

Oh, Father wouldn't like that. . .but Victor himself had always wanted to see a little more of the world outside Burtonsville and London in the Season. Maybe it was time to stretch his wings. Provided Victoria agreed, of course. "True." He stood and extended a hand. "Thank you for listening, Dr. Wilson."

"Thank you for such an amazing story, Master Van Dort," Dr. Wilson replied, shaking it. "Between you and – Miss L-, I'm starting to think I should publish these casebooks."

"Father could work out a contract about dividing up the sales, I'm sure," Victor joked.

Dr. Wilson chuckled. "Let me see if there's any market for them first." He checked his watch. "Will you be joining us for tea?"

"Maybe later," Victor said, sitting down and patting the cover of his sketchbook. "I'm feeling a bit more inspired now."

"Have fun, then. Good day to you."

"Good day to you too." Victor watched Dr. Wilson leave, then let out a happy sigh. _Well – not what I was hoping for the most, but the perfect consolation prize,_ he thought, scooping up his pen and flipping to a fresh page. _What a nice man too. Those in Rutledge must have been very grateful to have someone so attentive and interested as their doctor._ He swooped his hand over the paper in a large circle, then began carefully detailing tiny butterflies over it. _At least this should get Mother and Father to_ _calm down about me_ _. And hopefully the Everglots will accept his diagnosis too, if they don't want to accept the reality of it. And the villagers. . .maybe if I apologized for that initial fright? It couldn't hurt. ._ _.o_ _h dear, but would Pastor Galswells even listen to me if I tried? He's not one to forgive easily. . .perhaps I should get down on my knees and promise I will never_ _,_ _ever_ _–_

"FINE?!"

An ugly slash of black tore across the moon's surface. Victor whipped his head toward the door. "How can you pronounce him _fine_?" his mother's fire-alarm voice continued. "He believes he married a corpse, for God's sake!"

Ice formed in Victor's stomach. He dropped his pen and hurried into the hall, hanging over the railing to hear better what was going on below. "Not precisely. . .I agree that his insistence on it all being real is unusual," Dr. Wilson admitted. "But he shows no signs of any other mental imbalance. I asked him straight out, and he said he didn't believe just any corpse could rise from its grave. He _does_ know dead is dead."

"Then why is he going on about corpse brides?" Nell demanded.

"Because his hallucinatory episode was brought on by extreme stress stemming from the arranged marriage. This was his way of dealing with his fears."

"By thinking he could marry the dead?" This was a baffled-sounding William.

"By going through what amounted to a couple of 'practice weddings' and coming to terms with the fact that marriage was nowhere near as frightening as death," Dr. Wilson explained. "You'd be surprised at how many men consider the two one and the same. . .at any rate, he's come to grips with the life change. The mental construct actively dissolved away in front of him once there was no further reason for it. I suppose there is a chance of relapse, but I don't think it's a significant one. There were no episodes like this before, right?"

"No. . . ."

"And with someone to help him through difficult periods, I doubt there will be any after. I know you're worried about him, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort, but my professional opinion is to just leave the issue alone. He's not hurting anyone, and I can't see him bringing the incident up to strangers. Certainly not after how his own village has treated him in the aftermath. . .I've convinced him to keep it more or less to himself. It's an unusual world he's built – but what's the harm in him believing privately? He's quite well enough to function as a normal human being. Rutledge sent a number of patients back into the world in much worse states."

William and Nell were silent. Victor held his breath. _Surely they'll listen_ _they_ have _to listen_ _he's a doctor they brought him in especially for me –_

"You haven't got a clue what you're going on about, do you?!"

_No!_

Victor raced down the stairs, just in time to see Nell backing a startled Dr. Wilson toward the door. "I can't believe this – I write to you especially because I heard you're one of the best in the business, and it turns out you're nothing more than a fraud! A quack!" she snapped, stabbing him in the chest with her fan. "A waste of good postage!"

"You asked me to diagnose your son – that is my diagnosis!" Dr. Wilson replied, holding his clipboard up as a shield. "Really, you and your husband seem more obsessed with the idea of the walking dead than he does!"

"Because if this gets out we'll be laughingstocks!" Nell was crimson now, a volcano pouring lava over anyone in her path. "But you don't care about that, do you? No, you just wanted a better fee!"

"I was expecting more from you," William said from his post by the stairs, face pulled down in a disappointed frown.

"I'm not going to tell you what you _want_ to hear," Dr. Wilson said, glaring. "I am a professional, and I owe it to you to be honest. And my honest opinion is that your son is not insane! Certainly not to the point where he needs professional help! For this issue, anyway," he added in a mutter.

"Just get out! We'll be telling the world how competent you really are, that's for certain!" Nell spotted her son on the bottom step, watching the scene in horror. "And you! Don't think you've gotten off easy! There's plenty of doctors out there who'll give us a _real_ diagnosis! I'll start another letter right now!"

"Mother – wait–" Victor stopped as Nell bustled off to the nearest drawing room, still muttering to herself. "Oh dear. . . ."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Victor," William said, moving a little closer. "All you have to say is it didn't happen. That you, ah, let your imagination run away with you. Lord knows it happened enough when you were a boy, hmm? All those monsters under the bed and dragons in the garden. . .should have discouraged the fantasy books, I think. Seem to have given you a turn for the worse. Ah well, neither here nor there now." He gave his child a hopeful smile. "What do you say, Victor? Ready to accept reality?"

Victor looked at his father – then over to Dr. Wilson. The psychiatrist was by the door, accepting his hat and coat from Barry. He glanced up as he put the former on his head. "It's your choice, Victor."

Victor looked back. William was watching him, still sporting that grin, clearly assured that once again his progeny would bow to the pressure and give up what he believed in for family harmony. Victor's jaw tightened. "I am sorry I've caused such a fuss – but I will go to my _grave_ believing Emily was real. And nothing you nor anyone else says will make me change my mind."

William's jaw dropped. Victor turned and hastily made his way back upstairs before the urge to apologize could take him over. Behind him, he heard Dr. Wilson chuckle. "I thought that might happen."

"What?" William replied, sharper than Victor had ever heard.

"I know you don't put much stock in my opinion, but you see, after listening to his story, I think Victor learned _two_ rather important life lessons. The first being that marriage is something to look forward to, not fear."

"And the second?"

"How to stand up for himself." The door creaked open. "Good luck, Mr. Van Dort. I think you're going to need it."


	5. Discovery

March 11th, 1875

Burtonsville, England

6:00 P.M.

"Master Van Dort? Your mother is waiting for you in the west drawing room."

Victor didn't look up from his sketchbook. "And who else?"

"Just your mother, I assure you." Victor didn't reply. "Please, Master Van Dort, cross my heart. There's no one else down there."

Victor sighed and set his pen in the inkwell. "All right. I'll be just a moment."

"Very good." Barry pattered away. Victor blew lightly on his sketch to dry it, then examined it critically under the lamp. Generals Bonesaparte and Wellington grinned up at him from their usual table at the Ball & Socket, mugs clutched in their bony fists. _Bonesaparte looks good. . .Wellington's eye sockets still need a little work, though. Who knew getting just the right curve would be so tricky?_ He propped it up against his book tower. _Still, I think he'd be pleased with the portrait_. _If only I could pop down there and present it to them. And then perhaps ask for sanctuary for a few days. Or years._ He sighed and forced himself to stand. _Best not to keep Mother waiting. Barry had better been telling the truth about her being alone. . . ._

To his relief, the butler had. Nell was perched in her usual seat, a high-backed chair with easy access to the sandwiches and biscuits – Victor had silently nicknamed it "The Throne." She glared at him as he settled into his usual spot on the sofa. "You're late. Do you think that'll impress Lord and Lady Everglot when we find them?"

"My apologies, Mother – I was in the middle of a drawing," Victor said, taking a biscuit from the tray. "I haven't kept anyone waiting, have I?" He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. "Like a man with a new electrical apparatus?"

Nell huffed as one of the kitchen maids came in to pour the tea. "Are you still hung up on that? We didn't know he was going to suggest shooting a few volts through you. Besides, would it have been that horrible to try?" Victor stared at her. "Look, they say electricity can cure near anything! Lord Windenburg uses it for his rheumatism! Fit as a fiddle, from what I hear!"

Victor decided not to deign that with a response. He picked up his teacup and stared into it. A worn, stressed face in brown stared back at him, a testament to the nights he'd spent staring at the ceiling and the days spent dodging the latest physician to be summoned to Burtonsville. Where his parents were finding all these alienists willing to visit a tiny village only on the map because of its fish cannery, Victor didn't know, but he wished they'd stay there. After Dr. Wilson, the quality of his medical care had gone decidedly downhill. He'd been willing to give the second one, Dr. Wright, a fair chance, but the man had persisted in talking to him like he was five years old. _"Now Victor, let's not get upset. There are no such things as living corpses. You probably just had a bad dream after fainting in the woods. Here, would you like a sweet?"_ Wright's diagnosis had been more to Nell's liking – _"dangerously deluded and terribly stubborn"_ – but his only solution had been _"Just put him in the attic and wait for it to pass. A bit of solitary does a man good."_ Nell had refused to succumb to the Gothic novel stereotype, and so out the door he'd gone.

The third fellow, Dr. Carcer, had been more coolly professional. He hadn't said one word to Victor throughout his whole visit – listening to the story in an almost smothering silence, and then delivering his conclusions straight to William and Nell. _"He's suffering from a terrible imbalance of the humors – seems to me an overdose of bile. His mind needs to be settled so that everything can be restored to its proper place. A cold bath once per day, and only the blandest food for meals should do the trick. And for God's sake, make sure he doesn't engage in the great sin!"_ How one _could_ after a bowl of plain oatmeal and ice water poured down your back, Victor didn't know. For three days, he endured the torture for the sake of family harmony – but after the fourth breakfast of plain toast and mush, he'd snapped. It had been the work of a moment to let Harland catch him sneaking out the back for a walk around the cemetery – and when he'd returned, the cook had given him a knowing look and asked if he'd wanted a steak. And so Carcer too was thrown onto the pile of failures.

But the worst had been number four, Dr. Sturmkeng. The Transylvanian-bred psychiatrist had shown up at their door with a clanking bag and a worrying smile. He'd gathered them all in the east drawing room, listened politely as William and Nell explained the situation, allowed Victor to plead his case, then pulled out a strange helmet covered in wires and hooked up to some odd box with a crank. This he'd attempted to fit on Victor's head. And when the baffled young man had asked what on earth it was for – _"It's a rehabilitation device of my own invention. Electrical current passes between these two prongs through the brain, interrupting the formation of the irregular thoughts that plague the patient. A few passes on low, and you'll forget all about corpse brides."_

Victor had immediately ripped the damn thing off, run to his room, and locked the door until the foreign lunatic had been escorted from the premises. To think his own parents had let someone like that inside! They'd called in four more after him, but Victor had learned his lesson. He'd sequestered himself in his room each time until they'd gone away, grumbling about a trip for nothing. His mother was furious with his lack of cooperation, but he was steadily growing not to give a damn about her opinion. She and Father had had their chance to let things be. But they'd chosen to make it a fight, and now he was digging his heels in. If they could be stubborn, so could he.

"Honestly, Victor, you'd think we were trying to feed you to a lion, the way you're carrying on," Nell continued, stirring a healthy heaping spoonful of sugar into her tea. "Do you _want_ to be known as a social embarrassment the rest of your days?"

"No. . .I just want to be left in peace," Victor muttered into his cup.

"You think we _like_ dragging all these doctors down to see you? The crier's taken to hanging around the doorstep like your dog used to. I've had to have Barry chase him off twice." She sniffed and sipped her drink. "Don't think the Everglots will be very impressed by all this."

Victor bit his lip. He didn't care much what the elder Everglots thought – Father's money would talk louder than his actions, of that he was sure. But what would Victoria make of this mess? Surely she wouldn't believe he'd lost his mind too. But would she find his insistence on hanging onto his memories the actions of a brave man or a fool? Maybe she'd already recanted what she'd seen to get a little peace from her parents. . .or maybe she'd think that it was the final proof he desired Emily over her. . . .

No, he couldn't believe that. Not after how understanding she'd been the night it happened. Not after all the little moments they'd shared – a flower gifted over the piano, an all-too-brief touch in her doorway, a kiss that almost saw the light of – night. She'd understand why he felt this fight was so important, even if her own dedication to family duty meant she was keeping the memories of her half close to her chest. And if she _did_ prove to be just a tiny bit jealous of Emily – well, she was entitled. But hopefully she'd understand, too, when he sat her down and explained: _"I thought I'd frightened you off. Made you think that, love or not, I wasn't worth the walking dead invading your room._ _And – I knew your parents had to be pressuring you, but I thought s-surely you wouldn't be marrying Lord Barkis unless there was s-something you liked about him. . .yes, I know, I'm silly, I can only blame missing a night's worth of sleep. . .a-anyway, I never – t-there wasn't anyone else left for me in the world of the living without you, and Emily. . .I liked her so, and wanted to give her a happy ending. . . ._ _"_ And then Victoria would take his hand and reassure him that he was indeed worth it, and that she would be glad to be his second wife (or, well, technically first, but details). Then there would be a wedding, _not_ presided over by Pastor Galswells, and he'd say his vows perfectly because he'd damn well better know them after three "rehearsals." And after that. . .long walks through the woods, piano lessons, sketching and sewing in the parlor, dinners together, nights no longer spent alone. And, eventually, a little Emily of their own, who would grow up proud to bear the name of a woman who had died so unfairly, and given up her greatest dream to ensure someone else's came true. Victor smiled to himself, warmth wrapping around him and pooling in his chest. That dream, that hope, that life – that what was keeping him sane throughout this whole mess. _Even if it makes me more anxious by the day to figure out where she disappeared to. . .you'd think a month would have been enough for the best in the business._ _Father's certainly –_

_Wait._ He blinked and looked around the room. "Mother?"

"Yes?" Nell asked, halfway through a cucumber sandwich.

"Where's Father?"

Nell paused, then glanced at the clock. "6:15 – where _is_ your father?" she asked, turning back to him as if he hadn't just asked her. "I can't remember the last time he was late to tea! He gets in a mood if he doesn't have his cup and biscuit."

"Maybe something happened at the cannery?" Victor was suddenly struck with the memory of his father slumping in late one night, smelling of fish guts and complaining about how a hopper had broken and overflowed across the whole line. _Ugh –_ _I hope we're not in for a repeat of that!_

"It had better be a real emergency. Otherwise, he's going to get an earful and no mistake," Nell grumbled. "Victor, don't get crumbs all over the carpet."

The door abruptly burst open, and William darted in, grinning from ear to ear. "Nell! Victor! We've done it!" he cried, waving his cane in circles in the air.

"Done what? What was so important that you kept us all waiting?" Nell demanded, glowering, as Victor tried stealthily to mop up the tea he'd spilled on the sofa.

"We've found them!"

The anger vanished from Nell's face, replaced with shock. "Found them?" she repeated. "Found the Everglots?"

"You know where they are?" Victor added, looking up with a rush of hope.

William nodded, pulling a piece of paper from his waistcoat. "Depp caught me just as I was leaving the cannery – he finally tracked them down this morning! You were right, Nell, they're at one of their old country houses! Little summer home in a place called Sandford. We passed it by before – been closed up since before Lord and Lady Everglot got married, it seems – but Depp decided it was worth a look after exhausting some other leads – and there they were!"

"Fantastic! What did I tell you?" Nell declared, all smug smiles. "It's about time they turned up! Now all we have to do is get over there and convince them that Victor's not going to have another episode. You'd better not, anyway," she added, glaring at her son.

"I have no intentions of marrying any more corpses by accident," Victor said, massaging his forehead.

"I'd be more inclined to believe that if you were taking your therapy seriously."

"I don't _need_ therapy, Mother. I've told you – Emily's rising was special circumstances. And I would gladly never speak a word about her again in your presence if you'd just drop the matter."

"Hmph," Nell sniffed. "We'll see how you do with the Everglots first." She turned back to her husband. "How soon can we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," William said, tucking away his paper. "I've already told Harland to be ready to go right after breakfast."

"I knew I kept you around for a reason," Nell said, pleased. "Let's finish our tea, and then we can pack."

* * *

 

True to his word, William had them out of the house early the next morning, right after some hastily bolted-down pancakes and eggs. Victor parked himself by the window, staring out at the endless fields of half-dead grass as his parents murmured to each other about how best to woo the Everglots. Excitement and worry warred within him as they clopped along, fighting viciously for control of his heart and brain. _We've found them! I'm going to see Victoria again! If the Everglots let me, of course. . .but surely they still need Father's fortune to avoid the poorhouse! Unless they've found a new source of income out here in the country. . .Victoria will be happy to see me, though! She'll help argue my case! And maybe convince Mother and Father that she's just as loony as I am. . .but the Everglots saw the dead rise too! They can confirm it actually happened! And probably join Pastor Galswells in calling me demon spawn after whatever chaos the dead caused in their home._ _Maybe I can convince Victoria to_ _elope_ _? Yes, that would work out perfectly – illicitly married far from home, without any money or land at all to our names. But at least we'd be together. . .right?_ He buried his face in his hands. _Oh dear, I'm just making myself dizzy. . .one thing at a time, Victor. You're going to see her. If nothing else, you'll see Victoria again. Just. . .will I be allowed to marry her?_

Finally, after five interminable days, they reached Sandford – a modest town not that much bigger than Burtonsville. Nell sniffed as they trotted up the main road. "Why would the Everglots bother with a home someplace so – tiny?"

"They bothered with one back in our village," William pointed out. "Besides, it's nice to have a place away from all the hustle and bustle of the city. Nobody can host balls and attend dinners every day of the week."

The look Nell gave him said that she would gladly try. "I'm just saying, _I_ would have found someplace closer to London. It's not that long until the Season, and if I were a poor aristocrat, I'd take advantage of the chance to get a dress made on the cheap."

"I don't think–"

The carriage jerked to a stop. "Excuse me, sir, madam, but I think this is it," Harland said timidly from his perch in front.

"Oh, fina – _really?_ "

For once, Victor was inclined to agree with his mother. They house they'd parked in front of was incredibly modest – nothing like the grand, sprawling mansion on the Burtonsville square. Victor wasn't even sure if it had a proper second story, or just an exceptionally large attic. The roof bore signs of recent and hasty repair, and two of the upstairs windows sported cracked panes. The paint was badly faded, and the stone steps in front worn and pitted by harsh winters and rainy summers. Around the dwelling, the garden grew wild and untamed, with only the short path to the door spared the creeping carpet of green – and then just barely. It was hard to see the incredibly snooty and self-conscious Everglots living here, short of coin or no.

William studied his paper, then squinted at the number by the door. "The address matches. . .maybe the inside's a bit more homey," he added with one of his 'eternal optimist' grins.

Nell raised a dubious eyebrow. "They really do need a loan, don't they?" she remarked, then smirked. "Good for us we can give them one. Help me out, William – the sooner we get this sorted, the better."

The matriarch of the Van Dorts was extracted from the carriage via the usual ceremony, then the three of them braved the tiny jungle to the steps. Nell glared at Victor over her fan as they reached the door. "Don't you _dare_ ruin this for us again," she warned, voice low and dangerous. "Stand up straight, don't fiddle with your tie, and don't say a word unless you're spoken to, got it?"

"Yes, Mother," Victor nodded.

"Good." Nell gave the bell-pull a hearty yank while Victor and William stood to the side. Victor clasped his hands behind him to stop them fidgeting. _Please_ _be at home to visitors_ _, please. . . ._

The door opened, and a familiar nose stuck out. "The lord and lady are not expecting–" Emil started, then stopped dead as he registered just who was standing in front of him. He gaped for a moment, struck utterly dumb. "What – you–"

"Hello, my good man," William said, tipping his hat and pouring on the charm. "Do you think we could talk to your employers for a bit? We've got some business that needs ironing out, aheh heh."

Emil looked at him, then over at Victor. "Ah – I'll – I'll announce you," he stammered, eyes locked the young man's lanky form. "Lord and Lady Everglot are, um, in the drawing room. . .you're looking – well, Master Van Dort," he added, apropos of nothing.

Victor blinked. "Er – thank you," he said, glancing over at his mother. She just shrugged. "So do you."

"Very well indeed. . . ." The butler shook himself, and managed to regain a touch of his snooty air. "Do you have a card?"

"Yes, actually, right here!" William said cheerfully, pulling one out and handing it over. "Had them made up just the other week! Thought the lord and lady might appreciate them."

"Very good. Do come in." Emil stepped aside, allowing them into what just passed as an entrance hall. "Just wait here while I–" The butler's eyes flicked toward Victor again. "Tell them the news." He pattered away, leaving the Van Dorts to huddle in the corner.

Moments later, there was a loud " _Who?_ " that could only have come from Finis Everglot. The lord himself appeared shortly after, trailed by his wife. The pair of them goggled at the Van Dorts much the same way as their butler had. "You're not – how are you – what are _you_ doing here?" Finis demanded, looking from Victor to William and back again. "You were supposed to be gone forever!"

"We just wanted to talk to you, Lord Everglot," William said, smiling as brightly as he could manage. "About the wedding?"

"Wedding?" Maudeline repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"Our son and your daughter," Nell put in, slapping her fan against her hand. "You promised! How dare you go behind our backs with some wealthy newcomer?"

"Now now, Nell, don't get all aflutter," William soothed her. "That's all in the past now, and we can start over anew. But yes, our Victor and your Victoria. Maybe you forgot when you, ah, left?"

The Everglots glanced at each other, then straightened to their full heights (not that it helped in Finis's case). "We didn't _forget_ ," Maudeline replied icily, glaring down her nose. "Though we'd very much like to. We simply broke the engagement in the fastest and cleanest way possible under the circumstances. The fact that you think we would still want to join your family to ours after what your son did–"

"That's all over and done with, Lady Everglot, we swear," Nell cut in. "We've had all the best doctors in to have a word with him. He won't be going near any cemeteries to have a chat with the inhabitants. Or digging anyone up and insisting he or she wanted to come to tea." Victor opened his mouth to speak, only to be whacked in the stomach by her fan. "He'll be just as normal as anyone else."

"Doctors? You'd have been better off locking him in the basement and throwing away the key!" Finis boomed, glowering at Victor. "Though for sure we'd never see you again. . .I'm tempted to have Emil fetch me musket!"

"Shall I, sir?" Emil said. Victor jumped – how could the butler just _appear_ like that? Worse was the smirk on Emil's face, like he wanted nothing more than to see Victor lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground. _Lovely people you employ, Lord and Lady Everglot._

"Now, now, let's talk like civilized people," William said quickly, holding up a hand. "No need for violence. We know our Victor's gone through a bad patch–"

"I never knew the middle class to be one for _understatement_ before," Maudeline snapped. "Your son nearly drove my husband and I out of our minds with terror. What happened that night – it must have taken ten years off my life!"

"I'm sure he's sorry," Nell said, with a significant look at Victor.

"I am indeed," Victor nodded, glad for the chance to speak up at last. "I never m-meant – I didn't know they were going to p-pop up throughout the village! I went straight to the church!" He swallowed. "Whatever the dead did to your house, I apologize on their behalf. I didn't want your family thrown i-into the thick of it."

Nell shoved her face into her fan. "Of course you'd lead off with that ridiculousness about the walking dead. . .we're terribly sorry for his behavior," she added toward the Everglots. "Hadn't the slightest idea he was like that. He's always been a little odd, granted, but I always thought it was because he was _terrified_ of everything. Wet his combinations regularly when he was a boy."

"You mentioned," Maudeline said, wrinkling her nose. Victor blushed and lowered his eyes to the floor. Why did his mother love bringing that up in conversation?

"Yes, well – as we said, he's getting help for his problems," Nell continued, undaunted. "He won't bother you with talk about corpses and brides and all that nonsense anymore, _will he_?"

"Never again," Victor promised. "Not a word."

"That won't stop us from thinking about it!" Finis said, stabbing a finger at them. "We left that village to get away from such horrible memories, and here you are crawling back! We've lost a house thanks to you, Master Van Dort – _and_ we only just kept our butler! The sole reason he agreed to stay in our employ was because we were leaving!"

"Yes," Emil nodded, narrowing his eyes at Victor. "Your insistence on dragging the dead out of their graves nearly cost me a very good position."

"I didn't mean to!" Victor held up his hands. "Please, Lord and Lady Everglot, you've g-got to believe that I'm sorry! That I never wanted to h-hurt anyone in any way!"

"That's not what we've heard Pastor Galswells saying," Finis retorted. "He declared you damned."

"He's – it won't happen again," Victor tried. "I'll never speak a – a s-syllable about it in front of you if you don't wish!"

"That won't change the past, will it? Like how you ruined a perfectly good wedding reception with your – activities!"

Anger flared up inside him. "I don't think any reception with a groom that only married your daughter to get her nonexistent fortune is good," he replied, eyes narrowed. His mother hit him again, but he ignored her. _Just go ahead and defend forcing Victoria to marry Lord Barkis. I dare you._

Maudeline sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Victoria told us about his – demands afterward. Trying to make himself rich at _our_ expense. . .idiot. We'll allow that _that_ situation wasn't your fault." She lifted her head with a fresh glare. "But don't think that we're willing to forgive you for anything else! You made us look like fools, and you caused the ruin of our old manor! One that has been in our family fifty years! We can never return to Burtonsville – nor would we want to, after what you've done!"

"Nobody says you have to," William said in his most soothing tone of voice. "We can work out all the details right here. We don't mind staying for a while, do we Nell?"

"Not at all," Nell simpered on command. "It's a lovely estate you have here. Very rural. It's smashing."

"Yes, you see?" William nodded. "I'm sure we can come to some agreement. I've plenty to convince you with," he added temptingly.

"No, you don't," Finis said, folding his arms as best he could across his broad body. "There is no way we'd tolerate your tainted family being joined to ours in any manner."

"And besides," Maudeline added, tone cold and final, "you're too late. Our daughter is already married."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of two of the doctors, Carcer and Sturmkeng, are nods to two of my other fandoms, Discworld (Carcer is the name of the villain of Night Watch) and Girl Genius (two of the main characters have tried to take the title of "Storm King," and one uses what amounts to an awesome electrified cane to do it).


	6. Awkward Conversation Quota Fulfilled

March 17th, 1875

Sandford, England

4:21 P.M.

_Knock knock knock knock –_ Victor forced himself to stop, lest he bruise his knuckles against the door. His jittery hands automatically went for his tie – he locked them together behind his back and bounced on his heels instead. _Answer the door please answer the door hurry up hurry up_ –

The door opened, and a young man with sandy brown hair and the traditional valet's outfit appeared. "Hello, sir," he said, all politeness. "May I help you?"

"Yes," Victor replied, stopping his bouncing with an effort. "I need to see Vic – I – I was hoping to call on M-Mr. and Mrs. White. I've got a card – well, it's my f-father's card. . . ." He fumbled in his pocket for the bit of card stock. "M-may I come in?"

"Mr. and Mrs. White are accepting visitors at the moment," the young man said, stepping aside. Victor stumbled as he crossed the threshold. "Careful. . .if you could wait here while I–"

"Ah, Alan! Who's this?"

Victor turned, to be greeted by a droopy gray mustache and a frizz of curly gray hair, both attached to a face that had clearly seen a couple more decades than his. The dark brown eyes were warm, though, and the smile under the mustache perfectly friendly. "Christopher White at your service, my good man," the newcomer said, extending a hand.

"The card says Mr. William Van Dort, sir," Alan reported as Victor accepted the handshake. "But you said that was your father, correct?"

"Yes," Victor nodded. "I'm – well, I'm – Victor."

Mr. White froze mid-shake. "You – you're–" He looked the young man up and down. "But you're – how?"

"My parents tracked Vic – M-Mrs. White's parents down, and they told us – I know you must not have been expecting to see me, but–" Victor swallowed, finally succumbing to the urge to play with his tie. "Once I heard about your – your m-m-marriage, I had to–"

"You're here to see Victoria," Mr. White said, tone surprisingly understanding for someone who'd just realized he was playing host to his wife's former fiancé. He clapped his hands together. "Well then – Alan, take our guest to the sitting room while I get my wife. And ask Bridget to make some tea, will you? I think we'll need it."

"Very good, sir," Alan jerked his head at Victor. "If you could follow me. . . ."

A few steps down the main hall later, Victor found himself fidgeting beside a large armchair as Alan made his way to the kitchen. He gripped his tie tight in both hands, stomach twisting itself into a pretzel. Oh God, what was he doing here? Why was he putting himself through this torture? Wouldn't it be easier just to leave – run out the front door and pretend none of this had ever happened?

No, it wouldn't. Despite everything, he needed to see Victoria again. He needed to hear the story from her lips. And he needed to be certain she was all right. That she was happy with the life she now led. Just from first impressions, Mr. White seemed ten times better a husband for her than Lord Barkis, but – he wouldn't be truly satisfied until he'd seen her in person.

The wait seemed to last several lifetimes, each longer and more unpleasant than the last. Finally, Alan reappeared, fully-loaded tea tray in hand. And trailing behind him was Victoria, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in a cheerful yellow-striped dress. She gaped at her old fiance, one hand pressed over her lips. " _Victor?_ "

"Hello, Victoria – ah, M-Mrs. White," Victor corrected himself. Damn it, why did he keep making that mistake. . . .

"It's fine, Victoria's – fine." She approached him slowly, eyes traveling up and down his form. "You're fine. . .oh Victor, I – I never thought I'd see you again. . . ."

"That's obvious," Victor said, then winced. "Oh, d-do forgive me, I didn't mean – it's been a distressing day, and I'm not–"

"You're forgiven," Victoria told him. "I know that my being Mrs. White must. . .when did you get here? Oh, do sit down, I shouldn't keep you standing. . . ."

"Just today," Victor explained, lowering himself into the chair as Victoria took a seat on the sofa. "My parents have been looking for yours ever since you – disappeared. We finally found them here, and they told us that y-you. . . ." He looked around as Alan set out plates and cups. "Where's your h-husband?"

"He didn't think he should join us," Victoria said, hands twisting together in her lap. "He thought it might be too – awkward for you."

"Oh." Well, it would be awkward, there was no denying that, but. . . . "I – I'd rather like to meet him, actually. See w-what sort of man he is."

Victoria nodded. "Alan, tell Christopher he's welcome to tea." As Alan left to deliver the message, she picked up the teapot. "Would you like a cup?"

"Yes, thank you." Victor watched her pour. "This is a nice house you have here," he added, feeling he ought to attempt pleasant conversation.

Victoria gave him a weak smile. "It's not as big as I'm used to, but I don't mind. It's much cozier than my old home." She handed him a teacup. "You'll have to add the cream and sugar yourself, I'm afraid. I don't know how you take it."

"That's fine." Victor stared down into the brown murky depths, wondering how he wanted to begin. "Victoria–"

His thought was cut off by the arrival of Mr. White, with a spare cup and saucer. "I heard I was wanted," he said, sitting next to Victoria. He frowned at Victor. "You're sure you're all right with me being here?"

Victor looked up at him. There seemed to be nothing but genuine concern in those dark eyes. "I am – I wanted to meet you," he told him. "You can tell me your side of the story. . .why you and V-Victoria. . . ." He turned his gaze back to his cup, suddenly unable to look at them sitting together. "Victoria, why – why?"

Victoria took a deep breath. "Victor – I thought you were dead."

Victor's head jerked up. " _D_ _ead_?" he repeated, baffled. "Why–"

"When we last got news from Burtonsville, it was all about Pastor Galswells saying you were – damned," Victoria said, wringing her hands. "We didn't realize he meant while you were still alive."

_". . ._ _you're looking_ _–_ _well, Master Van Dort_ _. . ."_ _"You were supposed to be gone forever!"_ _"But you're – how?"_ Victor had assumed the reason everyone was so shocked to see him was because they couldn't believe the Van Dorts had actually found them, but now. . . . "You – you thought I'd k-killed myself?" It was probably the height of gauche behavior to mention that at tea, but he had to get it out in the open.

Victoria nodded. "I thought you'd gone after Emily."

"You did? But–"

Victoria sighed and picked up the teapot again. "Let me start at the beginning," she said, pouring tea for her husband. "When I left you that night to talk to my parents, I was expecting them to be frightened. I was _not_ expecting them to be throwing all their things in suitcases. Mother grabbed me the moment I walked in her bedroom door and told me to pack as they were leaving this 'gateway to Hell.' I tried to calm them down, but they were too frantic to listen. In the end it was more or less grab my clothes and go with them, or be knocked unconscious and dragged into the carriage."

"They wou–" Oh, but these were the same people who'd engaged their daughter to a murderer. And the same lord Victor had once seen shoot an already-downed deer twice in the head. "Victoria, I'm so sorry. I was – somehow I slept through that. I would have stopped them if I'd known."

"Oh, nothing was stopping them at that point – Father would have gladly run you down or shot you if you'd been in his path," Victoria said, shuddering. "Mother stood guard over me and Hildegarde while Father went off to find Emil and convince him to join our flight. Then, not an hour later, we were off, before I could think of any way to escape. We came here because our family hasn't been to this estate in ages – they thought it would be a good place to hide."

"It was," Victor said. "We passed the house over once before, but then one of the men we hired thought it was worth a second look, and. . . ." He shrugged.

"Mother and Father won't be happy about that," Victoria muttered. "They did everything they could with what little they had to make sure your family couldn't find us. They were determined that we have nothing more to do with Van Dorts. Almost before we were settled in, they started searching for another husband for me." Victoria laughed hollowly. " _I_ ended up being the one to argue that I needed to mourn Lord Barkis's death. My parents correctly suspected I was just trying to buy time and told me that, since his death occurred the same day as our wedding _and_ I obviously hadn't wanted to marry him in the first place, they'd ignore propriety just this once. I don't think anyone here besides Christopher knows I was Lady Bittern for an afternoon, and they told him the marriage had been hastily annulled."

"I see. . . ." Well, that did make sense for the status-conscious Everglots. But. . . . "So, um, h-how did you two meet? Was he one of the s-suitors they brought over?"

"Er, actually – I first encountered her when she was trying to get back to you," Mr. White admitted, with a very awkward chuckle.

"I must have made five escape attempts in our first week here," Victoria explained, turning faintly pink. "Mother threatened to lock me in the attic if I kept carrying on, but I didn't care. I knew you had to be looking for me, and I was so desperate to return to Burtonsville. . .the day I met Christopher was ironically the farthest I'd ever gotten."

"I found her struggling along the road in the pouring rain – poor dear looked like a drowned kitten," Mr. White said. "I stopped to offer her a lift, and she asked me if I was heading to Burtonsville. I told her I wasn't, and that it would be five days' ride even if I was – I couldn't take her that far without a chaperone. She started crying, and I couldn't help getting out to comfort her."

"He was so kind to me," Victoria said, giving Mr. White a look of quiet affection. Seeing her direct that smile at someone else was like a knife straight in his chest. Mr. White returning it was a second one in his back. "When I explained my situation, he didn't hesitate a moment to offer his help. It felt like he was the only one, after Hildegarde, who actually _listened_ to me."

"Yes, shame that butler of your parents' showed up to ruin the moment," Mr. White said, rolling his eyes. "That man has the unique ability to look down his nose at _anyone_ , regardless of their station."

Victor had to agree. "So – you became friends, then?"

Victoria nodded. "And he a potential suitor, at least in my parents' eyes. While Mother lectured me for trying to run away yet again, Father asked him about his prospects. I think bringing him home was the only reason I _wasn't_ chained in my room."

"I told him about them mostly to be polite," Mr. White said. "I didn't expect our acquaintance to go anywhere. After all, I thought I would be helping her get back to Burtonsville and you." He sipped his tea. "I won't lie to you though, Master Van Dort – even then, I had some interest in her. I've met many women in my time, but none nearly as brave and clever. The way she refused to give up, despite the raging storm. . . ." He gave her another tender smile, digging the blade deeper into Victor's flesh. "And even in the mud and rain, she was remarkably pretty. If I hadn't also seen how determined she was to find you, I probably would have asked her parents for permission to court her for real." He sighed. "I know it must hurt to hear that, but – I feel you deserve to know the entire truth."

Part of Victor would have preferred a lie or two to spare his feelings, but most of him appreciated the gesture. It was good to know that Victoria had married someone who truly cared for her. And who seemed so kind and amiable – it made Victor wonder if they could have been friends, under different circumstances. _Perhaps this is what I get for wondering the same about Victoria and Emily._ "So when did things take a – d-different turn?"

"February 13th," Victoria said. "I don't think I'll ever forget it. Christopher had invited us all to dinner, and right in the middle of the soup course Emil came in, leaned over Father, and whispered in his ear. Father promptly beamed and announced that we no longer had to worry about those 'wretched fishmongers,' as you'd – you'd 'joined the company of the damned.'" She twisted her hands together in her lap. "I demanded to know who'd said that about you, and Emil said it had come straight from the lips of Pastor Galswells. I'd never known the pastor to lie, and the way he'd put it. . .I couldn't eat another bite. I spent the rest of the meal staring at my plate, and when we got home, I cried myself to sleep."

The image of Victoria weeping into her pillow, utterly distraught, popped into his head. Victor blinked his eyes to clear a growing mist. "I'm sorry."

"It's not _your_ fault," Victoria told him. "I should have remembered Pastor Galswells has a flair for the dramatic. But Mother and Father weren't about to question our 'good fortune,' and I. . .I suppose I was just exhausted from everything that had happened. It was too easy to believe at the time."

Victor could sympathize – that was exactly how he'd felt when he'd heard Victoria was marrying Lord Barkis. "So – ah – Mr. White became your knight in shining armor?" he weakly joked, trying to lighten the mood a tad.

Victoria giggled. "You're more right than you know. Christopher was in the army when he was younger."

"Fought in the Crimean War," Mr. White confirmed. "I could tell you enough stories about those blasted Ruskies to give you nightmares the rest of your life. . .also spent a bit of time in India, and let me tell you, I'm surprised we've kept the place as long as we have. But I'm out of it now, with a healthy pension from the Crown and my own small estate which brings in an extra hundred or so a year. Nothing close to what your father makes with his canned fish, I'm sure, but it was enough for the lord and lady to give their blessing when I proposed." He smirked. "Helping them get that roof repaired couldn't have hurt either."

"Mmmm. . . ." Victoria leaned her head against Mr. White's shoulder. "I'm glad they picked you over that Rust fellow who came around a few times. He was quite the pompous boor."

"Don't I know it. Man was insufferable in Jhansi. Surprised he wasn't shot by his own troops."

Victoria snorted softly. Victor did his best to hide the twinge seeing them be so familiar caused. "S-seems like you're a very good match," he murmured into his tea.

Victoria's face immediately changed from amused to shamed. "Oh Victor. . .I – I know it must look like I didn't mourn you at all, but believe me, I did," she said, sitting up straight again. "I couldn't bear any company at all beyond Hildegarde and Christopher. They were the only ones who actually comforted me in my distress."

"She was terribly broken up about it all," Mr. White confirmed, expression serious. "Those first few days, I was certain she was going to spend the rest of her life as a spinster in memory of you. But. . .well. . . ."

"He kept coming around," Victoria picked up, picking at her skirt. "And we kept talking, and he was always so kind and gentle. . .listened to my opinions, talked _to_ me rather than _at_ me like Rust and the others Mother suggested. . .and–"

"And he was easy to like, made you happy, and even if he wasn't your first choice, he was such a good second one saying 'yes' felt right?"

Victoria looked surprised for a minute – then her face melted into a sad smile. "I knew you'd understand. Yes, that's exactly how it happened. By the end of February we both knew that what we felt for each other was more than mere friendship. He proposed the 27th, and we wed three days later. In fact, we only just got back from our honeymoon about a week ago."

"Really?" Well – the only way his timing could have been worse was if he'd walked in the door the same time they did. "I – I didn't know–"

"Of course you didn't. Please don't feel guilty, Victor," Victoria begged, leaning forward. "This isn't your fault. I _wanted_ to marry you, I really did. But I thought you were gone – lost to me forever. And Christopher. . .he and I. . .we can talk, we can laugh. . .he's my dearest friend on top of being my husband. I can't wish this undone. But I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Victor assured her, reaching out a hand but stopping just short of touching her. "I can't fault you for wanting to move on, not after. . . ." He swallowed. "You r-really thought I preferred Emily?"

"Like I said, I was worn out from suitors and attempts to escape. . .but Victor – you loved her," Victoria added, tone as matter-of-fact as if she was stating the sun rose in the morning. "I knew it from the moment I saw you in the church. The way you smiled at her, the way you stood so straight and proud, the way you said her vows without a single mistake. It couldn't be anything but love." She fixed the wrinkles she'd made in her skirt. "Have you ever wondered why I didn't say anything when you were about to drink that wine? Why it was Emily who ended up speaking out against the wedding? Because I saw the look in your eyes, heard the warmth in your voice. You were _happy_ , Victor. Everyone could tell. Even if it meant your death, I couldn't bear to interrupt if she was the one you truly wanted. If she was the one who made you happy."

"I – you would have made me happy too," Victor said, adrift in a sea of emotion. _Does she think I never cared for her at all? Why wouldn't she, I nearly drank the poison anyway when Emily hesitated. . .but surely she knows – argh, this would be so much easier if she was upset, when did_ _she_ _learn to be so calm about all this. . . ._ "But I thought – I thought I'd lost you, and I couldn't – without you – and she was so kind and enthusiastic and–"

"And saying 'yes' felt right," Victoria echoed back to him, nodding. "I never doubted that you loved me, Victor. The moment you came to my bedroom door and told me our wedding could not come soon enough, I knew. But. . .it was easy to doubt if you loved me more than her. Especially since I'd vanished on you this time, so soon after marrying another." Her hands worked themselves back into a knot. "After all, you were prepared to keep your promise to her even after we had been reunited."

Guilt jabbed at his stomach, making it twist and turn – Victor put down his tea, certain the slightest sip would make him sick. "She'd lost everything in her life," he whispered. "I just – I wanted her to know I wouldn't abandon her too."

"Fair enough," Victoria said. "And I was so grateful that she was willing to let you go – but I was also prepared to give you up if that was what you both wanted. I loved you, and I wanted you to be happy. Even with another woman."

Why did her being _understanding_ hurt so much? He'd prepared for a Victoria who was jealous or angry – but then again, he'd also prepared for a Victoria who was still single. "Maybe it wouldn't have worked out anyway," he mumbled, unable to look at her. "Maybe – maybe Emily would have eventually driven a wedge between us."

"I don't think so," Victoria said, shaking her head. "I wouldn't have tried to get back to you so many times if I didn't think we could have been happy. But. . . ." She dropped her eyes again. "But I'm happy with Christopher too. I can't say I'm sorry to have married him."

"I wouldn't want you to," Victor replied, looking back up. "Victoria, I feel the same – I love you, and I want you to be happy. Even with another man." He managed a smile for Mr. White. "One who is about the opposite of Lord Barkis in every way."

"Not a tall order," Mr. White said with a disgusted snort. "It's easy to be the opposite of a thieving murderer."

"True, but. . .you really do love her, don't you?"

Mr. White gave Victoria another one of those affectionate smiles, taking her hand in his. "I do," he said. "She's a remarkable young woman. Well bred, intelligent, and willing to speak her mind and do what's right. Very hard not to fall in love with someone like that." He turned back to Victor with an apologetic grimace. "I never meant to steal her from you, though. I swear, if I'd had the slightest inkling you were alive. . . ."

"I believe you," Victor said. "And it's hardly stealing if the other party thinks I'm d-dead, right?"

"Even still–"

"Please don't. I – it's n-not exactly what I wanted, but so long as you two are happy with each other. . .I can be content." Victor sighed deeply. What a day. . .his entire body felt weak and squeezed, like he was a sponge that had been wrung completely dry. "I should go. I'm imposing on you, I'm sure."

"Hardly," Victoria told him. "I'm sorry for putting you through this. It's such a betrayal, I know. . . ." She trailed off, staring at her hands. "I wish this could end happily for all of us."

Victor tried another smile. "It might still. Plenty of fish in the sea, as my father might say. And it's easier knowing _you_ got your happy ending. Don't let this ruin what you found, Victoria. You deserve it after – everything." He pushed himself to his feet. "Do forgive me for dropping in so unexpectedly."

"Not at all," Victoria said, standing as well. "I'm glad to see you alive and well. Even if it is under such awkward circumstances." She extended her hand. "If you ever need someone to talk to, please don't hesitate to write."

Victor wasn't sure how comfortable he'd feel exchanging letters with his now-married ex-fiancee, but he was glad of the offer nonetheless. _At least if I talk with her about Emily and the Land of the Dead, I'm guaranteed to be believed._ "Thank you," he said, accepting the handshake (and trying not to focus on how her skin still felt so nice against his). "I wish you both every happiness."

"And we wish you the best of luck," Mr. White replied, standing and shaking Victor's hand as well. "I'll treat her right, Master Van Dort. You can be sure of that."

"I am. Thank you." Victor looked between them. "Well then – I'll b-be on my way."

"Shall I call Alan to show you out?" Victoria asked.

"I can find my own way, thank you. Good day."

With that, Victor turned and left the room. _Well – that should fulfill my awkward conversation quota for the rest of the year,_ he thought, trudging his way back to the front door. _I can't believe. . .no, I can believe it. I was willing to marry someone else – why shouldn't she be? And they do look happy together. That's what I want most of all, right? For her to be happy?_ He sighed again. _Well, what I wanted most of all was her to be happy with_ me _, but_ _. ._ .

"Sir?" Victor looked up to see Alan standing nearby, frowning at him. "Are you all right?"

Victor considered the question. On the one hand, the woman he loved was no longer his. On the other. . .he thought about how comfortable she and Mr. White had looked together. How easily they fit. And then he pictured Lord Barkis again, that sword to Victoria's throat. "I could be a lot worse," he decided on. "Have a good day, Alan."

Alan smiled and nodded. "Thank you. You as well, Master Van Dort."

Victor's thoughts turned toward the Everglot summer home, and his furious parents waiting inside. He grimaced as he pushed open the door. "I'm not sure that's possible, but thank you just the same."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small Discworld shout-out here -- the suitor Rust refers to Lord Rust, Sam Vimes's occasional nemesis in the Watch books.


	7. Second Chance?

March 17th, 1875

Sandford, England

7:14 P.M.

_Clop-clop-clop-clop-clop. . . ._

Victor bit his lip as the hoofbeats echoed around the otherwise silent carriage. Across from him, his parents sat in mute judgment, eyes boring holes through his body. It was eerie – he'd come back to the Everglot cottage fully expecting his mother to give him an earful. Instead, she'd simply glared at him and motioned that he should stay in his seat. She and William had exchanged a terse goodbye with the Everglots (who looked as if the Van Dorts couldn't vanish from their sight soon enough), then joined him inside. Victor had tried to speak, but William had cut him off with a knock on the roof to Harland. And after that – nothing but those sharp, disappointed stares. _I actually_ want _her to yell at me,_ Victor thought, fingers picking at a loose thread in his top jacket button. _Anything would be better than that_ look _._

At last, Nell broke the silence. "You. Have ruined. Our lives."

"Mother–"

"Do you know the sort of ancestry the Everglots have? The standing among the elite? One of their relations was a _grand duke_! Can you imagine that? They were the cream of the social crop! If we'd had their name connected to our own, we would have had everything one could ask for! Now we're going to be known throughout eternity as the people who threw away a marriage to one of the best noble families in England!" She stabbed her fan at Victor's face, coming within inches of taking off the tip of his nose. "All because _you_ decided a corpse would be a better bride than a living woman!"

"This is not going to be good for business, Victor," William added. There was a hardness in his voice Victor had never heard before. It made him want to run and hide behind one of the trees growing on the side of the road. "We have a reputation to uphold. Good fish from a good family. It's bad enough we've lost a connection with the nobility. But if news of your madness spreads outside the village. . .sales have fallen far enough at home. We can't afford for them to drop across the whole country." He shook his head. "I'm very disappointed in you, son."

"Father, I don't want it to get out beyond our village either," Victor said. "I don't want to be known as a m-madman, or some evil sorcerer. I just want to be left alone. You needn't worry."

"Poppycock," Nell snapped. "Eight psychiatrists, and you still believe the dead can walk. If you were really interested in getting well, Victor, you'd forget that 'corpse bride' ever existed."

Victor bristled. "I'm not going to do that, Mother. I can promise not to talk about her, but I'm not going to forget her. She deserves to be remembered."

"No she doesn't!" The fan whacked against her seat. "She was nothing but a – a sick hallucination you had! A deranged fantasy you conjured up to embarrass us!" She whipped the fan up like a sword, pointing it at his forehead. "If you cared about us at all, you'd wipe her from your mind! Start fresh so we might have _some_ chance of making a decent match!"

"Mother, she existed! She was _murdered_! I helped set her free! It would be beyond disrespectful for me to pretend she never was!" Victor clasped his hands in front of his face. "Why can't you be satisfied with me being quiet? Why can't I remember in peace?"

"Because we don't want you to have a relapse!" Nell shouted, crimson. "The last thing I want is to come home one day and find my sitting room filled with dead bodies, with you in the middle chatting away!"

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Wouldn't you? You seemed to have all sorts of fun with it at the Everglots' manor!" Nell rolled her eyes. "Talking about dancing bones and eyes in soup. . .perhaps it's for the best you're not marrying their daughter, you seem to addle everyone you come into contact with lately!"

"We just want you to make a good marriage and become – well – a real person, Victor," William said, voice softer now. "And you can't do that as long as you – as long as you hold onto these fantasies."

"That's right!" Nell agreed, snapping her fan open. "All this nonsense about walking dead and lands below – it won't do, Victor, it just won't!"

Victor sighed and turned his gaze to the window. It was no use arguing – if the testimonies of both Pastor Galswells and the Everglots wasn't going to change her mind, he didn't have a chance in Hell. It seemed she would not be satisfied until he declared Emily nothing but a daydream. _And that's not going to happen until it_ snows _down there,_ he thought, scowling. _You'd think by now they would understand I'm not backing down on this. Emily's memory is too important._

Emily. . . .

 _Where is she now?_ Victor wondered, as the silence and the glaring resumed. _What happened, exactly, when I set her free?_ _Elder Gutknecht only said that she was happy. . .d_ _id she go somewhere else when she burst into butterflies?_ _Or was that just a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead? And_ _._ _. ._ _if the latter. . . ._

_Could I possibly see her again?_

For a split-second, Victor was shocked with himself. Was he seriously thinking of seeking her out and proposing once more? That had worked out so well for him the last time. . .and if there was anything that would convince his parents to finally disown him, that would be it.

Then he pictured that warm pink smile against bright blue skin, that child-like giggle that swelled up and out her punctured breast, and those long, skilled fingers – one set blue, one white – dancing over piano keys. A pleasant, runny warmth flowed into his chest. They hadn't had much time together, and he hadn't exactly been a gentleman through most of it, but – when she'd returned his long-lost Scraps to him, when she'd twirled like a ballerina in the moonlight, when she'd bared her soul to him through music, when she'd come up the aisle glowing like an angel. . .for those brief moments, all had been right in the world between them. He wanted more moments like that. And the only other person who could give them to him –

What was even left up here for him, anyway? Just like before, Victoria was married – and this time, it was no penny dreadful horror story that she would work constantly to escape. She was truly lost to him forever now. He had no friends in town – certainly not after Galswells had branded him with the mark of Satan. And his parents would probably like nothing more than for their "insane" son to disappear off the face of the earth. Everything Above was nothing but pain and sorrow and rejection. While Below. . .Below was color and enthusiasm and excitement. Below was warm smiles and pats on the back and encouragement to sit down and have a drink. Below was a motherly chef whipping up new treats (preferably without noses, thank you) in an attempt to fatten him up before rigor mortis set in; a fast-taking musician teaching him new tunes and melodies; a loyal friend sitting at his feet and begging for table scraps just as he had while alive. And if Below included an enthusiastic young bride. . . .

It wasn't quite like the life he'd pictured for himself and Victoria. No children or house, or growing old together. But it was still nice – sharing a coffin at night, hands intertwined. Welcoming new arrivals with a smile and a seat at the bar. Teaching Scraps new tricks while chatting with Maggot and Black Widow. Performing more piano duets, letting the music speak for them when words simply wouldn't do. And, on their anniversaries, a quick trip Upstairs so they could enjoy a waltz in the moonlight. It seemed a content and – well, not peaceful. The dead liked their parties too much for that. But it would be full of fun, companionship, and joy. With someone he loved at his side for the rest of eternity. And no one accusing him of madness or evil ever again.

Nell muttered something about him being a proper fool, but he ignored her. His mind was made up. Once they got home, he'd go back to the woods and look for Emily's hand. And then he'd do his best to convince her they deserved a second chance.

* * *

 

"VAN DORTS RETURN FROM EVERGLOT-CHASING EXCURSION! FISH MERCHANTS FLOP AS MISSING LORD AND LADY–"

"Oh, hold your tongue!" Nell snarled as they pulled up in front of the mansion. "The _least_ you could do is let us have a cup of tea first!"

The crier glared at her, then turned away, ringing his bell. "AND NOW THE WEATHER – partly cloudy, with fog overnight. . . ."

"I could do with a good cup," William commented as he and Victor exited the carriage. Harland came around to assist Nell. "How about you, Victor?"

"I'd – I'd rather a walk," Victor said, squeezing his hands behind his back. "It's been a very long ride, and I'd l-like to stretch my legs."

William peered at him suspiciously. "Not headed for the woods, are you? Pastor Galswells will throw a fit."

"Don't bother, William – he'll do what he likes whatever we say," Nell grumbled as she popped through the carriage door. "Just go. And make sure you're presentable for tea when you get back."

"Thank you." Victor turned and started along the edge of the square – then, once he was sure his parents were paying him no more mind, hurried around the house, through the back garden, and in via the servants' entrance. He crept his way through the halls, keeping to the shadows until he reached the stairs. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he sprinted up them to his room. He hated not being able to walk freely through his own home – but there was something important he needed before he took his walk. Something he'd thankfully kept hidden from his disbelieving mother and father. Closing the door behind him, he crossed over to his desk and pulled open the bottom leftmost drawer.

Gold winked at him from the back corner. Victor picked up the plain band and rolled it between his fingers. _Funny – I could honestly blame all my troubles on this ring,_ he thought, holding it up to catch the light. _If I'd managed to keep a hold of it during the rehearsal, I'd probably be married to Victoria by now._ He tossed it into the air and caught it. _On the other hand, I would have never met Emily, so. . .but none of that matters anymore. All that's important is that this worked for me once. Let's hope it does again._

He breathed on the band, polished it on his lapel, then slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. A glance in the mirror and a few rakes of his fingers through his hair proved him an acceptable groom. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath, then looked around the little chamber. Butterfly pictures on the walls, books piled haphazardly on his desk, paints and brushes scattered around the old easel in the corner. He'd spent over half his life in this place. He could still pick out the scratches in the floor where Scraps had tried to chase a mouse, and the ding in the bed frame where he'd crashed a toy train into the leg. So many memories for such a small space. . .and in just a minute, he would leave it forever. He bit his lip, touching the stool, the window, the mattress. Even though there was nothing here but inanimate objects, it still hurt a bit to say goodbye.

 _But there's something better waiting for me out there,_ he reminded himself. He ran his fingers over the picture of himself and Scraps hanging in his little alcove. "See you soon, boy," he whispered, stroking the puppy's head.

And then he turned around and walked out, with nary a backward glance.

* * *

 

Getting to the woods wasn't hard – with the townsfolk actively ignoring him, he could walk through the village with impunity. Even the town crier left him alone. _Probably annoyed I'm not doing anything worthy of another headline. . .don't worry, sir, you'll have stories aplenty by this evening._

He paused on the bridge to take a few gulps of the cool spring air – best to enjoy the sensation while he could. Then he entered the forest proper, winding his way through the old trees up the path that would lead him to Emily's final resting place. His heart beat faster as he neared it. This had seemed like such a solid plan before, but now. . .how would he greet her? What would he say? What would _she_ say? And the others, what would they say? Would she even be able to take him straight down to the Land of the Dead, like before? Or would she need to fetch help? Was there a way for him to finalize his vows to her without visiting the Land of the Living? Or, if it was a requirement, did they have to do it in the church? _Though giving Pastor Galswells another fright in my final moments sounds like an excellent idea. . .we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I just need to remember – 'With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.'_ He crossed the stream, babbling away under his feet. _'Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.'_ Up through the old graveyard, being careful not to knock any headstones. _'With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.'_ Past the stump that had played Lord Everglot, and the tangled branches that had served as his Lady. _'With this ring – I ask you to be mine.'_

And there he was. Right in front of the old, twisted oak tree. Victor grinned. "Emily?" he called. "Emily, I'm back!"

No answer. Well, it was silly to expect one just yet. He had to summon her first. He pulled out the ring and dropped to his knees among the sprawling roots. Now all he had to do was slip it on her finger, and –

And. . .

_And where's her hand?_

Victor's head snapped from side to side as he scanned the dirt at the base of the tree. Nothing – nothing but leaf litter, a patch or two of unmelted snow, and a handful of withered shoots poking their heads towards the sun. No curled fingers, no grime-stained arm – nothing at all to suggest someone lay slumbering beneath the stunted branches. _Am I in the wrong spot?_ Victor thought, turning in a circle. _But I recognize all this! How could everything be here except her?_ He scrabbled through the leaves and needles, crunching them in his hands as he searched for what wasn't there. _This must be where Barkis buried her. . .did someone come and dig her up?! But why would anyone do that? Maybe some kind soul decided to bury her properly. . .and risk Galswells's wrath? In_ this _village? Perhaps_ _an_ _animal ran off with it as a snack. . .b_ _ut_ _– why now? S_ _houldn't that have happened earlier?_

Victor paused, looking down at the old, forgotten grave. That – _should_ have happened earlier, shouldn't it? He knew for a fact that there were foxes in the forest – he'd seen Lord Everglot chasing them. Not one of them would have turned down a free meal. And, when you thought about it, why would her arm have been above ground in the first place? Who buried someone with their hand reaching out to passers-by? Even a vicious murderer eager to get out of town wouldn't have been in _that_ much of a rush. Why hadn't anyone stumbled upon her before? Granted, the woods weren't anyone's favorite walking place but his own, and the elements had worn her bones down to an unlikely bundle of branches by the time he'd accidentally proposed, but still. . .it didn't make a lot of sense.

 _Unless. . .unless her hand only appeared when she was looking for a husband,_ Victor thought, furrowing his brow. _How did Bonejangles put it? "She made a vow lying under that tree, that she'd wait for her true love to come set her free." And I'm the last person now to deny the existence of magic. Maybe. . .maybe her vow became a kind of magic. A contract with – the earth, perhaps? "You wait here with your hand extended, and I'll keep it from getting destroyed or disturbed until the right person comes along. And when he does, you can rise up again and claim your groom." It – it makes a twisted sort of sense. . . ._

 _But_ _then_ _why is it gone now?_ his heart objected. _She never got married! Our wedding proved to be null and void! Shouldn't she still be waiting?_

The song echoed through his skull again. _"Come set her free. . . ."_ Emily hadn't been waiting for a husband, exactly. She'd been waiting for someone to free her. Maybe she hadn't realized that when she'd said the words, but. . . . In the church, it would have been easy for her to insist that he complete his vows. To take advantage of his willingness to keep his promise. But no – instead, she'd given him that tender, bittersweet smile and said that he'd fulfilled it already. But how?

 _Well, you did help her bring her murderer to justice,_ a far corner of his brain pointed out. _She'd probably wanted to hold Barkis at swordpoint for a long, long time. And the way it all ended assured her no one else would suffer her fate. Elder Gutknecht said as much._

 _Yes – but he also said that I showed her love really exists,_ another bit argued. _How did I manage that? I spent over half of our time together either running from her or insulting her!_

_But. . .I did apologize. I came back when it would have been easy to run away. I played with her on the piano, something I've never had the courage to do with anyone else. I let her see me at my most vulnerable. And. . .and I proved there was someone out there that would give up his life just for her happiness. I even got her as far as the altar. She may not have become my wife, but she got to walk up the aisle a bride. I – I guess that was enough of her dream fulfilled._ _So when she turned into butterflies. . . ._

They hadn't been a fancy way of returning to the Land of the Dead. Elder Gutknecht could be cryptic, but not _that_ cryptic. No, when he'd set Emily free, her soul had clearly gone someplace else. Heaven, like everyone said? Or maybe she'd become a part of nature. Maybe a sliver of her soul was in every blue butterfly she'd dissolved into, free to wander wherever she wanted, free to see the world. He liked that thought. Either way, she'd left behind anything resembling a mortal body and mortal cares. Which included the need for a husband.

The need for him.

He stared briefly at the gold circle held between his fingers. Then he placed it right at the base of the tree and covered it with a handful of earth. A poor memorial, to be sure, but as there was no chance of getting her a gravestone. . . . He patted it down, then sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He knew he could still technically go ahead with his plan. Killing himself would bring him back to all his other friends Downstairs. But – it all felt rather hollow now that he knew Emily wouldn't be there. And worse, he no longer had any guarantee the other people he cared about would be either. Maybe Ms. Plum or Bonejangles or Scraps had passed on as well in the past months. Or if they hadn't yet, they would. He couldn't bear to watch his loved ones fade away around him, not knowing where they were going. Not knowing if or when it would happen to him. _Oooooh. . ._ _I wish that explanation had been for mortal ears, Elder Gutknecht,_ he thought. _I could really use one._

He looked around the clearing once more, then up at the old oak tree. "I – I don't know if you can hear me," he said softly, "but I just want you to know that – that I really do hope you're happy, Emily. Elder Gutknecht told me you were, and I suppose he would know, but. . .I would have preferred hearing it from you." He sighed again, then smiled. "Wherever you are, whatever you are – I wish you joy, and peace. I want you to rest easy knowing that I will _never_ forget you. No matter what my parents do. I will cherish our time together always. And I think Victoria won't ever forget you either. She's sorry, by the way, for thinking you were evil once. I'm sure you understand." He laid a hand on the rough bark. "I love you, Emily. Be happy, wherever you are. And know that you will never be forgotten."

With that, he turned and hurried away, eager to put some distance between himself and the grave. Because if her spirit did linger around there in some form –

He didn't want her to see him cry.


	8. Off On A New Adventure

March 29th, 1875

Burtonsville, England

5:42 P.M.

"Master Van Dort?"

The empty page stared up at him mockingly. _Oh, you wanted to draw today?_ it sneered. _What did you have in mind? Your friends Below that you might never see again? The two women who threw you over in favor of something better? The butterflies that will always remind you that you came within hours of lifelong happiness, and lost it? Why don't you just take that pen and drive it into your hand? The ink's almost sure to be toxic._

"Excuse me, Master Van Dort?"

Victor finally lifted his head. Barry frowned at him from the doorway. "Your parents request your presence in the east drawing room," the butler said. "As soon as possible. Er – are you all right?"

Victor nodded, setting his quill on his desk and snapping his sketchbook closed. "Tell them I'll be down in a minute."

"Very good." Barry turned to go, then looked back. "Is there – anything you'd like, first? We have chocolate biscuits."

"I'm not hungry, but thank you." Barry's frown deepened. "Really, I'm not. I'll be fine. I promise."

The butler's expression was dubious, but he nodded and hurried away. Victor sighed, rubbing his forehead. He knew it wasn't like him to turn down anything chocolate, but. . .ever since he'd left Emily's oak tree, his appetite had simply dried up. Along with his inspiration, his artistic and musical talents, and his general desire to do anything that wasn't sitting around staring aimlessly at the walls. It took all his energy just to drag himself out of bed and get dressed in the mornings. _And I barely even managed that yesterday,_ he thought, glancing at the ceiling and remembering how he'd stared at it until noon. _By April I'll have probably forgotten how to walk._

He'd _tried_ to fight back against this thick, syrupy malaise. He'd sat in front of his sketchbook for hours, pen poised and ready. He'd lingered in front of the piano, fingers resting on the keys. He'd even tried drafting a letter to Victoria, telling himself he needed someone to talk to. But the smell of the ink dripping from his quill reminded him of the afternoon he'd spent sketching his favorite specimen before being summoned to the Everglots, and the feel of the ivory under his fingertips brought back the sounds of a solo interrupted by a shy smile and a duet ended with a girlish giggle, and the meaningless pleasantries at the start of his missive had summoned up the image of Victoria with her head on Mr. White's shoulder, looking more content than he'd ever seen, and of Emily, face bright as she faded out of his life forever. The entire world seemed determined every second to remind him just how unneeded he'd been in the end. Just how alone he was. _Message received loud and clear,_ he thought, shooting a bitter glance at the sketchbook. _Maybe I should just stay in my room and sleep the rest of my life away._

But that wasn't an option just yet. He pushed himself to his feet and headed into the hall. _Might as well see what Mother and Father want. . .I though_ _t_ _we were pretending I only boarded here after Dr. Zemeckis left_ _,_ he thought, descending into the main hall. _Just show up for meals and we'll leave you alone. . .it's a good system. Certainly better than being forced to meet with another potential_ _bride_ _. . . ._ He scowled to himself. _I hope they're not going to play at being sympathetic or anything like that now. It's far too late for them to pretend they care._

He entered the drawing room to find his parents whispering to each other on the big couch in the middle. "So we'll – oh, there you are," Nell said as she noticed him. "Have a seat. We've got news."

"News?" Victor repeated, a spike of anxiety shooting through him as he sank down into an armchair. _Oh God_ _– did I just jinx myself? Has she actually – but who would even want to marry me now? Please, please no, I can't go through that again. . . ._

William nodded solemnly. "Victor, we're worried about you," he said, leaning forward. "All you've been doing for the past few days is moping about. You won't talk to anyone, you won't practice your scales, you barely eat – and you still wouldn't let Dr. Zemeckis have a look at you. Would it have been so hard to give him a chance?"

"He couldn't have helped me," Victor mumbled, looking at his feet.

"Quite right," Nell declared. Victor's head snapped up in surprise. "He couldn't have helped you, because you wouldn't let him. But we think we've found someone who can. Dr. Zemeckis recommended him to us right before he left. Apparently he specializes in stubborn cases like yours."

 _Oh lovely. Did my refusal to speak to the last five mean nothing to you?_ Victor sighed and leaned on his hand. "When does he get here?"

"Oh no – _you're_ going to _him_."

 _That_ made Victor sit up straight. "What? You're – you're sending me away?" A cold chill raced down his spine. "You're not – I – you can't be – n-not to an a-a-asylum!" Oh God, not that, anything but that!

"No, no, not one of those," William assured him, though his smile was less than encouraging. "Just a – home away from home. Our new man happens to run an orphanage which specializes in children with troubled pasts. You're not his usual sort of client, but when we wrote to him, he assured us he could take you on."

"He's something of a miracle worker, according to all the reports," Nell agreed, with a smug little grin. "I think he's just the person to help you forget this ' _corpse bride_ ' of yours."

Did his mother always have to say that like she was trying to get a bad taste out of her mouth? Victor's eyebrows lowered. "I'm not going to forget her," he said, voice hard.

"You say that now," Nell said, fanning herself carelessly. "This man will make you see sense. I'm sure of it."

"You need help, Victor," William added, shaking his head. "It's not healthy to cling to this fantasy for so long. Look what it's doing to poor Pastor Galswells. Man can barely get through a sermon without twitching. And what about Mrs. Carter, may she rest in peace? Your little 'adventure' didn't do her much good."

Victor's face softened. "No, I suppose not. . .but at least she's with her husband now," he added.

"She's n– well, I suppose she is in Heaven," William corrected himself, awkwardly adjusting his glasses. Victor allowed himself a tiny smirk. "But the fact remains she could have had a year or two left in her if you hadn't. . . ." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, son, I'll lay it all out here – I'm still rather concerned about your – taste in women, let's say?"

Victor's jaw nearly hit the floor. " _What?!_ Father, I've told you before – it wasn't _like_ that! Yes, fine, I tried to marry a corpse, but – the very idea of – _it_ never crossed my mind!"

William sighed deeply. "I so wish I could believe that, son. I really do." He smiled again, a hopeful glint in his eye. "But it won't matter soon enough. A couple of months in our new man's care, and you'll be a fit member of society again! He'll wipe all those horrible thoughts right out of your mind."

"It's all settled," Nell said, cutting off Victor's protests before they could even begin. "We'll be taking you up to London before the week's out."

"And if I d-don't want to go?" Victor managed to say.

Nell glared at him. "You don't have a choice," she snapped. "Our reputation is already in the pits. If you keep on like this, we'll never claw our way back out. You've already ruined my best chance at being someone important – you're not dragging us all the way back to the gutter."

"Victor, it's all for your own good," William added, as if Victor was five again and protesting his bedtime. "We want you to be well. Move out in society. Make yourself a good, solid marriage."

 _Yes – a good_ _, solid_ _marriage you'll arrange for your benefit,_ Victor thought, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. _All of this is for_ your _own good, not mine!_ "I'm not mad," he growled, jaw clenched. "I don't need this."

"Yes you do," Nell shot back. "You're not getting out of this, Victor. And if you even _think_ of running away, we will hunt you down and drag you there by your ear." She whipped up her fan as Victor opened his mouth to speak. "And _don't_ say anything about being nineteen! You still live under our roof, which means you do as _we_ want! You are getting your head screwed on straight whether you like it or not!"

"Don't get all aflutter, dear," William soothed, patting her arm, before turning back to Victor with a rather harder look. "But she's right, son. Whatever it takes to get you there. We're willing to do it."

Victor thought about the massive fee Depp and McGee had collected right before their ill-fated trip to the Everglots. He bit his lip. If his parents had been willing to spend that much to find his missing fiancee, they'd probably be willing to empty their bank account to corral their runaway child. And if he did try to escape, maybe they'd consider him too unstable for any regular doctor and. . .Dr. Strumkeng's helmet swam before his eyes, making him shudder. If there was anything like that waiting for him in an asylum, he'd just go ahead and end it, friends waiting for him Below or not.

He glanced around the room, taking in the various knickknacks his mother had collected over the years. Maybe – maybe it would be good for him to get away from all this. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with London – Nell had dragged the family around the West End a few times for the Season, and he'd visited various docks on the Thames with his father while learning the family business. And it would be nice to spend some time in a place where everyone he passed didn't automatically shun him as Satan's spawn. Dr. Wilson himself had suggested a fresh start in a new place if worse came to worst. Granted, Victor knew being hauled off to yet another crackpot wasn't what the doctor had meant, but – where else could he possibly go? The only place he could think of that would actually offer him shelter was Victoria's, and – his heart twisted in his chest. Yes, that was right out. He needed someplace far away from both Burtonsville and Sandford. Away from all the memories. And, unfortunately, this orphanage sounded like it fit the bill. "All right," he sighed, giving in. "I won't make trouble. I'll go."

Nell smirked in triumph. "Good. We're leaving in two days, so you ought to start getting ready. Be sure to pack your best suits – even if you are mad, you aren't going out in public looking like you're ready for Bedlam."

"Yes, Mother." Victor dragged himself to his feet. "I'll go do that now."

"Oh, don't look so depressed," William told him, grinning. "You might like it there! New place to live, new people to meet – you might actually make a few friends! And you'll be in very good hands with the doctor."

"Oh yes," Nell nodded. "He's _quite_ respected in the medical community. Does amazing work. If anyone can fix you, it's him."

Victor strongly doubted that, but decided not to say so. "Who is he?"

Nell beamed. "Dr. Angus Bumby."

The End


End file.
